An Interesting Situation
by the classicist
Summary: 1912: Anthony Strallan, widowed and struggling with the demands of his estate and his eleven year old son, requires a secretary and all-round factotum. Edith Crawley, daughter of a disgraced, deceased solicitor and distant cousin to the Earl of Grantham, is seeking a new job and an escape from London following a failed affair. Neither expects to find themselves falling in love...
1. Prologue: A Death In The Family

**AN: Because apparently, I can't stop writing Andith + children... CN/TW for this first chapter: references to the discovery of a suicide.**

* * *

**London, March 1910**

"Papa?"

Edith knocked on her father's study door. When there was no response, she pushed the door open and caught sight of him, fast asleep at his desk. A small smile spread across her face. He was forever doing this, drifting off in the middle of his reading. It frustrated Mama no end. But if he didn't wake up soon, then he would still be drowsy and cross when Mary and Richard arrived for luncheon, and no one wanted a reoccurrence of what had happened the last time _that_ had been the case. "Papa?" she repeated, and leant over him to touch his hand and shake him awake, as she had done a thousand times before.

It was cold and stiff to the touch.

Momentarily, Edith froze. The bile rose in her throat. She withdrew her hand and took a deep breath in through her nose, and then released it through her mouth. Then she repeated it. Miss Treadwell, the last governess they'd had, had recommended it as a method for staving off panic in tight spots. Edith thought that this probably counted.

When she thought that the danger of being sick over the Persian rug had passed away, she reached out again and touched Papa's wrist. There was no pulse, as she had suspected. Then her eyes lit upon the rest of the desk. The empty tumbler of whisky, some white-ish residue at the bottom. The equally empty pill bottle, knocked to its side. The crisp, creamy envelope, stood up against the half-full tantalus and bearing, in her father's distinctive violet scrawl, the single word _Cora._

The talents of Mr Holmes were not required to work out what had happened here.

Very calmly, Edith walked around to the other side of the desk, her movements slow and deliberate. If she hurried - if she rushed in any way - the panic would utterly overwhelm her. Already, she could taste the dry, sour bitterness of fright in her mouth. Her heart was jumping in her breast as if it were trying to burst out, through flesh and corset and blouse, and escape across the floor. The image made her stomach roil again, and Edith had to press her fingers tight across her mouth until the sudden urge to retch had subsided.

Her clammy fingers scrabbled at the brass handle of the desk drawer - horrid reminder of how cold and lifeless her father's fingers had been - and tugged it open. There, amongst the letter paper and envelopes and spare ink bottles and pencils - Papa had always been awfully untidy - was the key to the study door.

Clutching it in her hand, Edith shut the drawer and strode deliberately to the door. Stepping out into the hallway, she shut the door on the horror inside, and locked it firmly. She slipped the key into her sleeve and, this done, Edith hurried across the hallway to the telephone.

It was early still, only just past half past eight. Daisy, who did double-duty as kitchen and housemaid, would not have got round the rooms on the ground floor yet - Mrs Patmore, the cook, preferred her to see to the breakfasts first. Mama slept late whenever she could and took her breakfast in bed, and Sybil had been out at some sort of charity meeting the night before with Aunt Rosamund, and hadn't returned until long after Edith had gone to bed. She, too, had still been asleep when Edith had left the bedroom they shared that morning.

There was, then, a little time, before 36 Cadogan Square became its usual hive of activity.

Dr Hanbury's secretary was very kind. Of course he would take a telephone call from Miss Crawley. She hoped that no one was terribly ill.

"Edith, my dear girl!" The sound of John Hanbury's cheery voice made Edith shudder in sudden relief. "How can I help?"

"Uncle John," Edith began, and stopped. Of course, he wasn't a _real_ uncle - just one of Papa's old army friends, turned godfather to his middle daughter - but he could be trusted, of that she was certain, even on a morning on which all the certainties of life had been shaken to their core. "Uncle John, something awful has happened."

There was silence for a moment on the other end of the telephone, and then, in his calm, sensible way, Dr Hanbury replied. "I see. Should I call on you?"

Edith swallowed away a sob - she could not dissolve yet, _not yet, not until everything was safe - _and managed to choke out, "Yes. Please."

Hanbury's voice was suddenly urgent. "Where is your father, Edith?"

He heard her breath catch. "Did you _know_?" she whispered. "Did you know that - that he was going to - "

"Edith," Hanbury interrupted, "I will be with you in precisely twenty minutes."

* * *

Edith sat by the door until she heard Uncle John's heavy tread coming up the steps from the street. She had leapt up and opened the door before he had even had a chance to knock - neither her mother nor Sybil were down yet, and it would be disastrous if they appeared before Uncle John had had the chance to examine the - to examine Papa.

"Where?" he asked simply, squeezing her elbow in silent greeting.

"The study. I locked the door."

A faint smile passed over his kind, rather worn face. "Sensible old thing. Come along, then."

He surveyed the body with professional coldness, lifted the whisky tumbler and wrinkled his nose at the smell of whatever white powder was in the bottom of the glass, lifted the unopened envelope and held it up for Edith to see.

"You haven't read it?"

She shook her head tightly. "I - I don't want to know what it says."

Hanbury's eyes sharpened. "My dear, you may have to." In gentler tones, he asked, "Would you prefer for your mother to have to deal with it?"

That decided her. What had she been doing all this for - sneaking around, locking the door, telephoning Uncle John in secret - if not to spare Mama, even for just half an hour more, from the grief of knowing the truth of what had happened here?

Edith read the letter through twice, quickly, and passed it silently to Hanbury.

_My dearest one,_

_This was the only thing that I could have done. You must believe me when I say that. I have been lax when I ought to have been careful, and it has utterly ruined us. I have made bad investment upon bad investment, speculated wildly in the hope of ensuring your security, but I found yesterday, finally, that my last hope had failed. All the money is gone, and I cannot bear the shame and disgrace I have brought upon you, or the thought of your disgust when you discover how foolish I have been._

_Please forgive me, and believe me to be, always, your most loving husband,_

_Robert_

Uncle John was silent for a long moment. Then he tore the letter swiftly in two and shoved it into the bottom of his capacious doctor's bag, along with the empty pill bottle. This done, he picked up the whisky tumbler and passed it to Edith. "Go and rinse this out, my dear."

"But… Mrs Patmore will already be in the kitchen - !" Edith protested. Their cook had eyes in the back of her head - certainly she would notice one of the daughters of the house washing out a whisky glass!

"Then use the bathroom tap. Quickly."

In the bathroom upstairs, Edith locked the door, waited a moment or two, in case anyone were listening, then tugged on the lavatory chain. Under cover of the noise of rushing water, she turned on the sink tap and washed the glass thoroughly, rubbing her clumsy fingers all the way around it until the white residue was quite gone and the glass was clean again. She towelled it dry, unlocked the door, and walked slowly and steadily down the stairs again to the study.

Hanbury took the glass from her with a hand covered by his handkerchief, and poured the tiniest dribble of whisky into it, swilling it around before setting it back on the desk, near her father's outstretched right hand. As he worked, he asked, over his shoulder, "Get rid of the first sheet on the blotter, there's a girl."

Blindly, Edith obeyed. _So no one will see what he wrote, _she thought. _We're hiding the evidence_. She could feel an irrational, hysterical bubble of laughter fizzing up her throat and swallowed it away. "So… we aren't going to tell anyone?" she checked. "Not even Mama?"

Uncle John raised a disapproving eyebrow. "_Especially_ not your Mama. No, we must be the only two who ever know, Edith."

"But - but he _killed_ himself - "

"_Exactly_," he interrupted. "If you think the knowledge of that will do any good for your mother's reputation, or yours, or Sybil's, or Mary's, then you are wrong."

"But Cousin Matthew…" Edith tried and Hanbury sighed, with some exasperation.

"The Earl of Grantham is a very kind young man, and I know that he holds your family in high regard, but there are some things that even he cannot protect you from!" He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed briefly. "My dear," he continued, softening his voice, "if your papa was telling the truth about the money, and not just exaggerating, then you will all have more than enough unpleasantness to deal with over the next few months, without… any additional difficulties."

He was, she supposed, entirely correct. "What will we tell them then?" Edith whispered, numbly. "He's - he's _dead_, Uncle John."

"A heart attack." Hanbury squeezed her arm in silent sympathy.

"He isn't - _wasn't_ \- even fifty," Edith pointed out.

"But it isn't unlikely, considering his diet. The last time he came to see me, his blood pressure was rather high - and no wonder." He shook his head. "No one will ask any questions, I promise. Now, I think we should go and talk to your Mama, don't you?"

At the door, he looked back at her and saw for the first time, in the tightness about her mouth, and the pallor of her cheeks and the quivering of her fingers, folded tightly in front of her, how very frightened his goddaughter really was. _Barely twenty, and having to cope with a mess like this. Damn you, Robert._

"You've been very brave, and very sensible, my dear," he smiled quietly. "You mustn't stop now."

* * *

**Locksley, August 1910**

"That isn't possible," Anthony whispered. "She can't be dead."

Dr Clarkson lowered himself heavily into the armchair opposite his late patient's husband. "Sir Anthony, I am very sorry. Diphtheria is… a most cruel disease. There was nothing to be done."

"But… she can't be dead," Anthony repeated. "We have a son. She… she was pregnant again - " He sank into the chair, burying his head in his hands.

"I know," Clarkson murmured. "I - if it is any consolation, Sir Anthony, after she had died, I - I tried to retrieve the baby."

Anthony lifted his head, eyes damp and aching. "Not dead as well?"

Clarkson could not meet his eye. "I'm afraid so."

Anthony's hands fisted against his knees. "So you _butchered_ my wife for nothing…!"

"I hoped to save one, because I could not save both!" Clarkson's voice and face were suddenly both thunderous. With an effort, he calmed himself. "What would Lady Strallan have wanted, in the circumstances?"

Anthony did not reply. At length, he asked, "A… a son or a daughter?"

"A little girl."

"May I see them?" he asked eventually.

Clarkson nodded. "Of course. The nurse is just… tidying things, in the bedchamber. I'll fetch you, when they're ready." He paused. "I must ask - do you feel quite well?"

Anthony frowned quizzically. Clarkson shrugged. "We can't discount the possibility that you have been infected, too, Sir Anthony. Have you a sore throat, a fever - anything of that nature?"

Mutely, Anthony shook his head. _What on Earth did it matter now, anyway? Now that Maude was…_

"Good." Clarkson's voice was bracing. "Telephone me if there's any change. The same with your staff. And Master Phillip?"

"He's visiting my mother, in London. He left last week." _God. _He would have to telephone and tell his son that his mother was…

Dr Clarkson nodded. "Well, best to telephone Lady Strallan and have her be on the lookout for anything unusual. Symptoms tend to develop quite slowly in these cases." He winced. "I imagine that you will be in touch to - to break the news, in any case." The doctor rose. "I truly am very sorry, Sir Anthony."

"Thank you, doctor."

* * *

When Anthony was finally admitted to the bedchamber, all was in silence. The nurse shot him a look of sympathy and slipped out, shutting the door behind her with a soft snap. All trace of the horrors that the room had seen over the last few days had been removed. On the bedside table, Maude's copy of _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_, place neatly marked, sat under the still-open sewing basket. She had been embroidering a nightgown for the baby for weeks now…

Steeling himself, Anthony forced himself to look at the bed. She lay in the middle of it, golden hair neatly brushed away from her face, a golden halo against the white of the pillow. Her eyes were closed lightly, as if she were sleeping, the long dark eyelashes looking as if, at any moment, they would flutter into wakefulness again. When he touched her hand, his fingers trembling, he was surprised to find some lingering warmth there. The baby, swathed in a pale yellow blanket, rested next to her, as still as her mother.

Hesitantly, Anthony sat down next to her. "Darling? We have a daughter. Do you hear, Maude? A little girl, just like you wanted."

With a gentle fingertip, he pushed aside the blanket to catch a glimpse of his daughter's face. Phillip, when he had been born nine years ago, had been large and lively and pink with life. His sister, though fully formed, was tiny and pale and silent. "She's perfect, my love," Anthony whispered. "You're so clever, so brave." He sniffed thickly. "What shall we call her, hmm? I think… Frances would be a good choice, don't you? After your Mama." His voice cracked on the final word, and his composure utterly dissolved. Burying his face in the blankets beside her hand, Anthony let the sobs tear through him.

"Please, Maude. Darling girl, don't leave me. I - I can't go on without you. Please come back to me. Please."


	2. Moving Forwards

**AN: Thank you for the lovely, supportive responses to the first chapter! And now, the first of two appearances from a certain M. Dregson...**

* * *

**London, January 1911**

Edith tugged the piece of paper she had just finished typing free from the machine, set it aside neatly atop the stack of pages she had typed that afternoon, reached for the protective cover for the machine, covered it up safely - and finally, luxuriously, stretched her arms above her head and sighed in relief. The working day - the working _week _\- was done.

"That," came Mr Gregson's voice from behind her, "is the sound of a woman who needs a drink."

Edith turned and gave him a shy smile. She had been working for him for four months now, and still she was not entirely used to his easy informality. In truth, she thought, she was not used to such kindness.

She had been lucky to get this position. After the horrid events of March, life had changed utterly. Papa hadn't been exaggerating about the money. The house had had to be sold. The servants had been dismissed. Mama had utterly collapsed. Mary had swept in and taken charge, ushered them all off to her fancy townhouse. It had been unendurable. Mary lording it over them all had been bad enough, but Sir Richard had been even worse - such a forbidding presence at the dinner table, so disapproving of Sybil's political opinions, so cold and dismissive when Edith had asked to borrow books from his library. She had known that she could not stay there indefinitely.

Aunt Rosamund, as she so often did, had come up with the answer. She had helped Edith find a place on a secretarial course. Nothing fancy: just typing, Pitman shorthand, and politeness - but it had been a chance. A week after finishing the course, Edith had got the job with Mr Gregson.

He was a journalist - the editor of _The Sketch_, in fact, which had impressed Mama no end - and he required a secretary to take care of the administration side of his job, and his writing. Edith typed his articles up, and wrote to prospective contributors, and rephrased in diplomatic tones Mr Gregson's often somewhat sharp edits to his journalists' pieces. It was interesting work. Mr Gregson was trying to place _The Sketch_ at the forefront of modernity, and it sometimes skated over the line of the appropriate, into the scandalous. There was a small part of Edith that rather enjoyed that - enjoyed watching Mary squirm with embarrassment at her husband's obvious disapproval, over the obligatory Sunday lunches at their house, enjoyed the new, slightly startled, half-admiring glances that Sybil would occasionally shoot her, enjoyed feeling a part of the new and exciting world that seemed to be opening up around her.

And, which was best of all, the post was live-in. No more Mary reminding her constantly that _she_ was in charge. No more Sir Richard, with his arrogance and presumption and forbidding manners. Just thirteen shillings a week and her freedom.

Her employer was - despite his disapproval of poor grammar and awkward syntax - a kind man. He smiled and made small-talk and never gave a sign of the personal unhappiness he must constantly be enduring.

Edith had found out very early on about _Mrs_ Gregson. His wife was ill, being cared for in an asylum. Mr Gregson's housekeeper, Mrs Finlay, was not averse to a little gossip now and then, and had told Edith the whole sorry story with really very little prompting. It had been two years' since Mrs Gregson's nervous breakdown, and still there was no change in her condition. Mr Gregson found it far too painful to even visit her - but Mrs Finlay had assured Edith that the institution which cared for her was one of the best in the country.

Now, Edith stood and tucked the chair neatly under the desk. Mr Gregson had given her a small nook in his library in which to do her typing, and he would often come down at the end of the day to check on her progress, and share a few minutes conversation. She smiled and shook her head. "No, thank you, sir."

Mr Gregson sighed dramatically, a flicker of wry amusement in his eyes. "But it is _so_ boring to have to drink alone. Can I really not tempt you - or are you incorruptible?"

Against herself, Edith laughed. "Perhaps just a small sherry, then. Thank you, sir."

"That's the spirit - so to speak." Mr Gregson was already pouring himself a whisky. "Dry, medium, or sweet?"

"Dry. Thank you."

"I should have guessed." He winked at her over his shoulder. "You're much too sweet already."

Edith felt herself blush. Lately, during these conversations, there had been more of that - little compliments, a growing warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. Sometimes, she felt dizzy with it - too dizzy to remember until later that he was, technically, a married man.

Mr Gregson passed her her glass of sherry, and their fingers brushed, making Edith's hand twitch reflexively. "Steady the buffs!" Mr Gregson chuckled and guided her into the corner of the sofa in front of the fire. Gregson stretched one of his legs out in front of him, crossed the other over it neatly at the ankle, allowed his arm to spread across the back of the sofa, and turned to smile - the picture of relaxed manhood - at Edith.

"So, do you think we'll get the edition in on time?"

"I should think so, sir," Edith reassured him. It was rather flattering, to have one's opinion sought, to be consulted and asked questions as if her ideas, her view of the world, really mattered.

"What do you think of our articles this week?" Gregson pressed.

Edith frowned and looked away. It had been a particularly scandalous week, to put it mildly. "I'm… not sure you pay me to _think_, sir."

"A diplomat's answer." He lifted an amused eyebrow. "Are you shocked?"

"I… don't know." It was the honest answer.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were," Gregson shrugged carelessly. "I doubt that free love and divorce are the sorts of topics that get discussed over the tea-table in…" His forehead creased and he asked, "Where did you grow up?"

"Cadogan Square, sir."

"Really?" Momentarily, Gregson had been diverted. "How… up-market! So how did a girl from Cadogan Square end up typing my letters for me?"

"My father died," Edith admitted quietly, taking a rather large gulp from her sherry glass.

Mr Gregson's expression of amused interest vanished as he leant forwards in real concern. "My dear, I'm… so very sorry. A long time ago?"

Edith shook her head and took another sip of her drink. "About six months before I came to work for you."

"He… left you badly off, I take it?"

"He left us _penniless_." The words came out more bitterly than she had intended. Sometimes, she thought she was beginning to forgive Papa for all he had put them through. Clearly, she was wrong.

"'Us'?"

"My mother, and my youngest sister. Sybil. My older sister is married - to a newspaperman, in fact. You might know him - Sir Richard Carlisle?"

"Oh, I know Sir Richard." Mr Gregson twinkled at her. "He's… rather an experience, isn't he?"

Edith chuckled into her glass and drained it. Solicitously, Mr Gregson filled it again. "That's one way of putting it."

"How did he die? Your father? If you don't mind my asking."

Edith looked away, eyes prickling. "He… couldn't bear the shame - you know, of having lost so much money…"

Mr Gregson's arm slid down from the back of the sofa and curved sympathetically around Edith's shoulder. "He killed himself?"

Edith nodded, a single droplet of water escaping to trickle down her cheek. Half-irritated, she swiped it away with the back of her hand. "Sleeping pills. An overdose." Her head was swimming. Closing her eyes on the room, Edith mumbled, "I found his body."

"You all must have been devastated."

Edith hiccuped and Gregson patted her gently on the back. "The others… don't know. My godfather's a doctor. We made sure none of them found out, told them it was a heart attack. My - my mother loved him very much." The story was coming out all muddled, but Mr Gregson seemed to understand. His hand, squeezing her thigh comfortingly through her skirt, certainly suggested that he did, anyway.

"Oh, my poor dear girl," he crooned, tugging her closer to him. "You've had _such_ a horrid burden to bear. How could _anyone_ have treated you so badly?"

Edith sniffled and Gregson rescued her half-empty sherry glass from her, leaning forwards momentarily to set it aside.

"You must have been so unhappy, sweetheart," he sighed. "And you don't deserve it, not at all. You're the last person on Earth who deserves it." With each syllable, he pressed soft kisses into her hair. "I'm so glad that you came here, you know." He smiled against her forehead and Edith curled into the warmth and the bulk of him with something like relief. "You threw open my windows and let in the air and the light, when I never thought I'd see it again…" He huffed out a little laugh against her skin. "Oh, precious girl, haven't you realised how much I've grown to care for you?"

"M-Mr G-gregson…" Edith managed, and then stopped. She couldn't have articulated what she intended to say next - whether she wanted to push him away or pull him closer. It seemed that the world was cracking around her, had been cracking around her for so many months now, and currently, the only thing that seemed to make any sort of sense was Mr Gregson's arm around her, holding her up, and his mouth in her hair, and his voice - his calm, kind, low voice…

"Shhh…" he soothed her, stroking her damp cheek gently with the back of one of his fingers, as one would pet a frightened kitten. "Call me Michael. Please."

"M-michael…"

"Oh, my darling…" he murmured. His hand slid down from her cheek to her arm, and then to her waist, rasping against the lawn of her blouse. "Let me look after you now…"

And so it was, that when Mr Gregson - _Michael_ \- tucked his other hand under her chin and lifted her face to be kissed properly, Edith did not resist at all.


	3. An Interview

**Locksley, August 1912**

"Granny's here!"

Anthony looked up from his desk, brow wrinkled, as his son skidded to a halt in front of his desk. "She is?" he asked blankly.

Phillip grinned. "You _know_ she is!" His arms clung briefly around his father's neck. "Best surprise _ever_!"

Anthony lifted his eyebrows in a rare expression of amusement. "If only I'd known it was that easy…"

"Sir Anthony? Lady Strallan is here," Stewart announced from the doorway.

"I think Master Phillip may _just_ have beaten you to the mark, Stewart," their visitor twinkled as she strolled past him, pulling off her gloves just in time to catch her grandson as he flung himself at her. "Might I trouble Mrs Cox for a pot of tea and some of her seed-cake, Stewart? That was a journey sent from the very depths of Hell itself, I'm afraid." Turning to the desk, she set Phillip back from her, and rested her hands on her hips like a general surveying her troops. "Now, let me look at you both."

Reluctantly, Anthony rose from his desk. His mother eyed him appraisingly. "You've lost weight," she sighed, shaking her head. "_And_ you look rather tired."

"Lovely to see you too, Mama," Anthony sighed.

"What about me, Granny?" Phillip asked, tugging on her sleeve.

His grandmother narrowed her eyes, inspecting him closely. A smile curved her mouth as she ruffled his hair. "Splendid, as always, Pip. However, I must _absolutely_ forbid you from growing any taller, or I shall have two of you towering above me. Now, where is this marvellous train set you told me about in your letter?"

"Up in the nursery." A thought struck Pip and his eyes lit up. "Would you like to come and see it, Granny?"

"I'd love to, my darling. Go and get it set up for me, and I shall be there in precisely ten minutes."

As Pip exited, Nancy strolled to the desk and looked over her son's shoulder at the account ledger he was totting up. Running a proprietorial finger down the page, she frowned, "You're six shillings fourpence out." Fondly, she added, "Your poor dear papa was always adorably bad at figures too."

"I am _not_ bad at figures!" Anthony objected, sounding far more like a recalcitrant teenager than any grown man had a right to.

Nancy tutted. "Six shillings and four pence would argue otherwise." Gently, she squeezed his shoulder. "You could get Pip to check them for you - a penny a mistake. He'd like that. Or you could hire someone."

"I don't _need_ to hire someone," Anthony insisted. "Papa managed very well, and so do I."

"Your papa had _me_, my darling," his mother pointed out. "And now that Maude is - isn't with us any more - "

Anthony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as his mouth tightened. "Please, Mama. Don't pretend that you approved of her."

His mother shook her head slowly. "Darling, whatever I thought of her, she was Pip's mother and your wife. And you need someone to help you here. Anyone can see that."

"Oh, really?" her son snorted.

"Yes." Nancy touched his arm gently. "Not telling Pip wasn't a surprise, was it? You forgot that I was visiting." Her hand brushed through his curls as it had done since he was a child. "You had your mind on other things. Hire someone." She glanced darkly at the desk. "Before you are _completely_ overrun."

* * *

**London, September 1912**

"Sybil, if you want to go around chaining yourself to railings, or throwing bricks through windows or blowing up theatres, then you are at perfect liberty to do so," Richard announced sharply, "but not while you are living under my roof!"

"You aren't my father, Richard!" Sybil snapped. "You're my _brother-in-law _\- and a pretty poor one at that - and in any case, it's canvassing and fundraising for the Election Fighting Fund, not throwing bricks through windows!"

Richard snorted. "And I suppose you'll be telling me next that this Election Fighting Fund isn't one of the WSPU's little side-projects. Give me credit for a little awareness, please. It's the thin end of the wedge, Sybil, and I forbid it."

"And I agree," Mary intervened, turning momentarily from her bureau where she was writing some letters. At Sybil's look of furious betrayal, Mary added, "Darling, every day there's some new story about these suffragettes being locked up in prison and force-fed and Lord knows what else. Richard wants you safe, just like Mama and I do."

"Richard wants me vote-less and married off!" Sybil retorted.

Her brother-in-law rolled his eyes. "In fact, what Richard wants is a little peace and quiet in his own drawing room." He sighed. "I've got no objection to women voting, Sybil - you can't make a bigger mess of the political process than men have already - but I _do_ object to Mrs Pankhurst and her band of rabid fanatics. No sane government will give voting rights to women who behave like animals. You want the vote, you can sign a petition like everyone else."

"'Deeds, not words!'"

"And if I hear you've thrown a brick through anyone's windows, my girl," Richard warned, "I'll say the same thing!"

Sybil drew herself up to her full, rather negligible height, breathing heavily in indignation. "You wouldn't _dare_!"

Her brother-in-law quirked an eyebrow at her. "I never make promises I don't keep, Sybil. And I'm not going to prolong a profitless quarrel, either."

Wisely, Sybil decided not to reply. Instead, with a withering glance at Richard, she turned to where her other sister sat in the window seat, a open book abandoned in her lap as she stared blindly out of the window. "What do you think, Edith?"

Edith stirred and turned her head, offering Sybil a wan smile. "I'm sorry, darling. I wasn't paying attention."

Sybil let out a frustrated noise. "Is _everyone_ in this house stuck in the last century?!" she exclaimed and flew from the room, slamming the door behind her. Slowly, Edith returned to her window-gazing.

Richard frowned and stood. Leaning over Mary's shoulder, he asked in an undertone, "Is Edith quite well? This is quiet, even for her."

"She wouldn't even talk to Mama about it - I don't know what makes you think she'll confide in me," Mary replied, not looking back.

He kissed her temple briefly. "Between her and Sybil, I'm feeling rather relieved it was you I chose to marry."

Mary lifted an eyebrow. "What a compliment. Now, do go away and let me finish this letter to Mama in peace." After six months of wheedling and arguing and persuading, the Crawley daughters had finally convinced their mother to visit France with Aunt Rosamund. Some time away from England had seemed a good idea, and in her last letter, their mother had seemed much more cheerful than she had done for several months. But, Mary thought darkly, if she had known Sybil would be this difficult, she would perhaps have tried a little less hard.

"Give her my love." Richard drew back.

"I'll say 'Richard sends warm regards' and maintain a crumb of honesty," Mary retorted. Richard could hear her smiling. He let out a short bark of laughter and settled his hands, broad and warm, on her shoulders. "Impossible woman."

Mary reached up and touched one of his hands with hers - brief and cool, a rare gesture of physical affection. "Did you mean what you said to Sybil?"

"Every word of it," Richard reassured her. "When she learns to argue in a more logical way, she'll probably convince me of some of the merits of her argument. But, as you well know, childish tantrums don't impress me."

Over by the window, snatches of their conversation reached Edith. It had been a surprise, returning to her family, and living with Mary and Richard again now that she had some experience of romance. Before, she had looked at them and seen what she suspected everyone else saw - a lifeless marriage between a bored wife and her cold husband. But that wasn't quite true. Mary and Richard might feign indifference all they liked in company, but still there was something indefinable in the atmosphere around them when they were together, something of strength and unity and solidity that was at once more subtle and more valuable than any overt displays of adoration might have been.

She hated to say it, but watching them made her ache inside. A lot of things were prompting that reaction, these days. Ever since she had left Michael's employ last month, that was.

_"__You can't seriously be planning to walk out on me," Michael chuckled, leaning back in his desk chair. "I've never heard anything so ridiculous in my life!"_

_"__You're _married_, Michael," Edith stated. "This - what we've been doing - it isn't right."_

_Michael frowned. "Your conscience has woken up very suddenly. It hasn't uttered so much as a murmur before - God, Edith, it's been nearly two years!"_

_Edith nodded, hands fisting in her skirt. "Yes," she agreed, her voice trembling. "And that's something for which I'll spend a very long time trying to earn forgiveness."_

_Michael rose and came around the desk, arms open to embrace her. "Darling, it isn't something that you need _forgiveness _for - "_

_Edith fended him off. "Of course it is! How could it _not_ be?" Angrily, she swiped at the tears running down her cheeks. "When your mother-in-law visited you last week, do you know what she said to me? Do you, Michael?"_

_"__What on Earth has my blasted mother-in-law got to do with this?"_

_"__She said, 'I'm so _glad_ that Michael has someone kind and clever like you to rely on, Miss Crawley. I'm so _grateful_ \- and I know my daughter would be too.' It was _sickening_, Michael - that she was _so _nice to me, and she had no idea that all the time, I'd been sleeping with you!" She swallowed thickly. "It made me feel cheap and deceitful and _vile_."_

_"__It's _love_, Edith!" Michael let out a frustrated noise. "I don't understand what's deceitful about that!"_

_"__Is it?" Edith asked, looking him full in the face for the first time. "Is it really love?"_

_Michael stared. Edith gave a sad little smile. "I didn't think so." _

_"__We haven't done anything wrong," Michael insisted. "Elizabeth's sanity has gone and it is never coming back - what am I supposed to do? Live like a monk for the rest of her life? Is that fair, Edith? Is that _just_?"_

_Edith shrugged. "I'm not a lawyer, Michael. And no, it isn't fair - it's not fair to you, or to me, or to Elizabeth - but you stood up in a church with her and promised 'in sickness and in health'. She needs you much more than I do."_

_"__She doesn't even know who I am any more!" Michael shouted. _

_Straightening her shoulders in the face of his fury, Edith offered, "I'd like us to part amicably. I'll work out a month's notice, help you find someone to take over my work here." Quietly, she added, "I don't hate you, Michael, I honestly don't. I want you to know that."_

_He chuckled bitterly and threw himself on to the sofa. Dispassionately, Edith recalled that they had kissed for the first time on that sofa. Kissed - and other things. "How very consoling!" _

_"__I'm sorry," she tried._

_"__Damn your apologies." Looking up at her, Michael's lip curled. "I could make this difficult for you, you know. I could refuse to give you a character. Where would you be then?"_

_Edith watched him steadily for a moment, hoping for evidence of even a trace of shame in him. Eventually, she replied. "Knocking on your father-in-law's door, I imagine, to tell him exactly what has been going on under your roof for the past two years." She shrugged. "Would he continue investing in the paper if he knew you'd been unfaithful?"_

_Michael laughed, sounding almost surprised. "How manipulative! You wouldn't dare. Even if he believed a word you said to him, you'd be ruined."_

_"__I'd be ruined without a character, too," Edith pointed out. "Michael, if you ever cared for me - if you ever thought of me as anything more than a body to be lain with - then you'll _let me go_, freely and honourably and without fuss." Her voice broke. "_Please_."_

To her utter astonishment, he had. The reference had been placed on her desk by the end of the following day, and by the end of the following week, they had found him a new secretary - an efficient, middle-aged man called Roberts - who fitted so seamlessly into the household that Edith had felt quite _de trop_ by the time she had finished explaining all his duties to him. After that, there had been nothing to do but pack up two years' worth of a life and return to Richard's house.

Perhaps the appointment she had tomorrow would help her escape. Someone called Sir Anthony Strallan. She had looked him up in Debrett's after she had received the letter inviting her for the interview.

_Strallan of Locksley, in the county of Yorkshire_

_Anthony Phillip Strallan, born 3__rd__ September, 1870, married, 15__th__ April 1900, Maude, daughter of Sir Edward Gould, of Gould Hall in the county of Leicestershire; by which lady (who died 1910), he has issue a son, Phillip, born 20__th__ January 1901._

A widower wasn't much better than a married man with a sick wife, but a letter to Cousin Matthew, followed by a short telephone conversation, had reassured her somewhat as to Sir Anthony's general character. "Nice fellow," Matthew's kind voice had said. "He's dined here a few times, apparently - when Papa was alive. He's a good landlord, apparently, all his tenants speak very highly of him. Mother was singing his praises last night, said she's never seen a man grieve the way he did after his wife died." Edith had breathed a sigh of relief, thanked Matthew for his help, and put the telephone down. If the Dowager Countess, her Cousin Isobel, liked Sir Anthony, then that spoke very much in his favour.

Besides, what other option did she have?

* * *

Sir Anthony Strallan sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had been a most trying day. He had taken his mother's advice, of course. Complain he might, but his mother _was_ the most intelligent woman he knew - the most intelligent _person_ he knew. He'd have been a fool not to take her advice, and he might be many things, but he wasn't a fool. Added to which, she was _right._

So he had advertised. Someone capable, who would take charge. That was what he needed.

Unfortunately, the day so far had been a disaster. None of the candidates he had interviewed so far had been remotely suitable. He glanced down at Stewart's messy scrawl on the page in front of him - one last candidate.

"Sir?" his man's voice at the doorway drew his attention.

"Final applicant here, Stewart?" Anthony sighed. "Show him - her? - in."

Stewart smiled. "Her, sir. Very good, sir."

Anthony rummaged on the desk until he found the letter she had written applying for the job, paper-clipped together with her references by Stewart. She had neat handwriting, he observed - which he supposed was a start -

"Good morning?" There was a question in the greeting. That was not Stewart's voice, either.

_Wonderful._ She had caught him ferreting around in his own desk like some sort of - of ruffian -

Anthony looked up. She was young. Blonde and young and looking at him with a slightly raised eyebrow. Despite her best attempts, there was a glimmer of amusement in the brown eyes that were surveying the scene, but it was not an unkind sort of amusement.

"Good day, Miss - ?" He couldn't remember the surname. _Better and better._

She smiled and stepped forwards, extending her hand for him to shake. "Crawley, sir. Edith Crawley."

"Miss Crawley." With relief, Anthony gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you." She sat gracefully, hands clasped neatly on the knee of her navy skirt, still looking at him with those calm, slightly amused eyes.

Anthony lifted the letter he had been searching for. "A glowing reference from your previous employer. I congratulate you."

Miss Crawley's face closed up and she gave him a somewhat anxious smile. "Thank you," she repeated. "Mr Gregson was… interesting to work for."

"He's unmarried?" Anthony asked. At Miss Crawley's querying look, he explained, "I'm a widower, so if you were used to being under the direction of the mistress of the house - "

The furrow between her eyebrows cleared. "Oh, n-no. Mrs Gregson is… ill." There was a slight, pregnant pause, and then she added, "Being cared for in - in an institution."

"How sad." And he looked it, too, Edith thought briefly. Mind you, her brain reminded her, _looks _were never a guarantee of honesty. _Especially _where men were concerned. "Well," Sir Anthony smiled, "Mr Gregson speaks very highly of you in his reference. A wonder that he was willing to let you go."

Miss Crawley took a sip of tea through slightly pursed lips. "He's - he's been… very kind," she replied, eventually, in a wooden little voice.

_Poor girl, _Anthony thought briefly. _Well, it's obvious what's happened there. Refused advances, and now she's out on her ear._

"Miss Crawley," he stated clearly, "you are the best qualified applicant I've seen all morning. But I must ask - I spend much of the year at my estate in Yorkshire, Locksley. Would it bother you to move from London?"

"Not at all." Miss Crawley shook her head very firmly. "I… have relatives in Yorkshire." She paused. "You may know one of my cousins, in fact…"

Sir Anthony raised a polite eyebrow. "Oh? Who is he?"

She flushed and bit her lip. "Matthew Crawley. The… the Earl of Grantham."

"I see. Yes, I know him - a very fine young man." He smiled. "I suppose I really should have guessed from your name. But, why tell me? It's none of my business, you know."

She shrugged. "I thought it would be dishonest _not_ to tell you, sir. You mightn't like the idea of employing an earl's cousin. I'm told they can be rather… uppity." He chuckled at that and Edith felt a strange thrill run through her at the thought that she had made this clever and rather dashing man laugh. "Well, the duties won't be taxing for a woman of your abilities. Typing, ordering papers, accounts' work if you think it's something you can manage. And I'm in the midst of straightening up the family archives, so there'll be a certain amount of research to keep track of - but I suppose you'll be used to that sort of thing, having worked for a journalist?"

"Yes, sir. I'd enjoy it."

"Excellent." Another one of those warm smiles. He clasped his hands together, pleased. "Well, then, I suppose it's settled. The salary is sixteen shillings a week, with accommodation here and at Locksley as required. I'm travelling down to Locksley tomorrow. Would Friday be convenient for you to arrive?"

Miss Crawley's eyes widened. "You're - you're offering me the job?"

"Yes. If you'd like it, the situation's yours."

Her fingers pressed themselves against her mouth as a startled little laugh escaped. "I'd - love it! Yes. Thank you, yes. Friday would be - yes!"

"Good." He stood and Miss Crawley stumbled to her feet as well. "Send word here of what train you'll be on, and I'll have my driver meet you at the station."

"Thank you, Sir Anthony."

He extended his hand, as she had done at the beginning of the meeting, and they shook. He bowed his head, formal and old-fashioned, over her hand, and then released her. "Until Friday, then. Good day, Miss Crawley."

"G-good day, sir."

When she reached the pavement again, it was pouring down, raindrops bouncing off the street. Edith grinned the whole walk home.


	4. Meeting Master Phillip

"A productive trip to town, sir?" asked Mrs Dale as she took his coat.

"Thank you, Mrs Dale, most productive." Sir Anthony set aside his hat on the hatstand, and announced, "Our new secretary will be joining us on Friday - Miss Crawley."

Mrs Dale beamed. "Well, that's a relief, I _must_ say, sir!" Thoughtfully, she asked, "She's young?"

Anthony nodded. "I think so - no older than twenty-five, I wouldn't have said." He shrugged gracelessly. "I'm no judge of these things."

"Ought properly to be 'Mrs Crawley', I think, then, sir," Mrs Dale suggested. "Shows her status."

"Well, if you think it best - I'll broach it with her when she arrives. And how was everything here? Master Phillip behaved himself, I hope?"

Mrs Dale's eyes softened. Master Pip was the apple of her eye - even housekeepers were allowed favourites, it seemed. "As good as gold, sir."

"Papa!" The young gentleman himself, still in school uniform, was clattering down the main staircase towards him. Reaching the last two steps, he flung himself down the rest into his father's outstretched arm.

Anthony squeezed his shoulder. "Hello, old chap."

"Did you find a secretary, Papa?"

"I did." Anthony drew back and Phillip hopped down onto the hall floor. "She's called Mrs Crawley and she'll be arriving on Friday."

"What's she like?" Phillip wanted to know, taking a mouthful from what looked suspiciously like a Locksley apple.

"Young. Clever." Anthony lifted his eyebrows at Phillip's bulging cheeks and added, "Don't talk with your mouth full."

Pip ducked his head, blushing sheepishly. Swallowing heroically, he said, "Sorry, Papa."

"And I do believe we've had discussions about scrumping from the orchard before," Anthony sighed, casting his arm around his son's shoulders and starting to pull him towards the library.

"I _didn't_ scrump them!" Pip protested indignantly. "I took them from the basket in the kitchen. Mrs Cox is making Apple Charlotte for pudding." Seeking to mitigate his offence, Pip reached into his pocket and pulled out another one of the fruit. "I saved you one, Papa." As his father took it from him, he pointed out, "And anyway, it's only scrumping if it's not _your_ orchard."

"Ah - a barrack-room lawyer, hmm?" Anthony ruffled his hair. "You'll spoil your dinner, if you carry on like that. Haven't you got prep. to be getting on with?"

Pip shrugged and lifted his wrist to lick a trail of juice that was trailing down his palm. "Only Latin, and I was stuck, so Mrs Dale said I could wait until you got home."

"All right." Anthony jerked his head towards the door. "Bring your books down, and we'll take a look."

Once he heard Pip's feet on the stairs, Anthony turned to the desk. Mrs Dale had left a neat stack of letters on the blotter; idly, Anthony sorted through them: an invitation to dinner from the Gervases; a letter addressed in his sister Diana's firm hand, sent via the consulate; a short note from his bookseller in London - perhaps he had managed to get hold of that particular volume Anthony had asked him to find; and an envelope in a vaguely familiar hand.

_Dear Sir Anthony,_

_I will be arriving at Downton station on the half-past five train on Friday afternoon. Thank you once again for your offer of employment._

_Kind regards,_

_Edith Crawley._

Briefly, Anthony ran a thumb over the green letters, lingering a little over her name, and then set it aside. Mrs Crawley was going to be an excellent addition to the household - young, energetic, clever, efficient. Perfect.

The depressed slam of schoolbooks on the edge of the desk drew his attention. Pip was back. Anthony smiled. "Now, what seems to be the trouble?"

As Pip began to explain, Anthony half-let his attention wander again. There was a faint headache pulsing behind his eyes and he was dog-tired, but what could he do? There had been no chance of sending Pip away to school - for one thing, he had his mother's stubbornness, and when he had decided upon something, that was that, and Ripon Grammar School for Boys had proved a far more attractive prospect than Eton or Harrow, or any of the other public schools in the country that would have been a more usual choice. For another… Anthony didn't think he could have borne sending his little boy away.

* * *

Edith stepped down from the train and set her suitcase down on the platform. She had been here a couple of times before, as a child on visits with her family to the Abbey and their more prosperous relations, but that had all been a very long time ago. It had always surprised her, how well her Papa had got along with his richer Grantham cousins - especially considering the personal history.

Mama _had_ been supposed to marry Matthew's father, after all - before he had been Matthew's father, of course. And then she had met Papa, and broken the engagement. Quite the scandal at the time. Edith gave a wry little inward smile. If things had gone differently…

"Miss Crawley?"

Edith turned, shading her eyes from the glint of the late afternoon sun, and caught sight of Sir Anthony himself, driving coat, windswept curls and all. He extended his hand. "Hello, Sir Anthony. I - I wasn't expecting - "

He ducked his head. "Yes, well… I… had some free time this afternoon, and I rather enjoy driving myself." Easily, he swooped down and collected her suitcase from the floor.

"Oh!" Miss Crawley exclaimed. "You don't need to - "

"Nonsense. It's quite all right. Just this way." His arm outstretched towards the station exit, he allowed Edith to pass ahead of him.

"Wh-what sort of car is it, sir?" Miss Crawley asked as they walked.

"An open-top Rolls Royce."

"How exciting!" She looked up at him for a moment from beneath the brim of her hat, eyes glinting with real enthusiasm.

"It makes me rather popular with my son, in any case," Sir Anthony agreed wryly. "Ah, here we are."

The car was indeed very elegant. Sir Anthony opened the passenger door for her, and Edith slid in as he stowed her suitcase. "How old is he? Your son?" she asked as he started the car.

"Eleven."

"Away at school, I suppose?"

"No, he attends Ripon Grammar. I must warn you, he is terminally curious - so please don't hesitate to tell me if he makes himself a nuisance."

"Curiosity is a lovely quality in a child."

"Mmm. Before we reach Locksley… my housekeeper suggested that, to ensure your status within the household, it might be best for you to go by 'Mrs Crawley'." As Sir Anthony pulled him to a crossroads and halted, he looked anxiously down at her. "Would that be acceptable?"

"Of course." They shared a brief smile, and then Miss - _Mrs_ \- Crawley looked away out of the window.

"If you look beyond that clump of oaks, over there," Sir Anthony called over the noise of the engine, nodding to the left, "you can see a little of Locksley - or her chimneys, anyway."

Mrs Crawley followed the direction his head had indicated and caught glimpse of it - a pretty, square red brick building topped with a slate grey roof. "She's lovely. How long have your family lived there, sir?"

Sir Anthony gazed fondly over at it. "We're mentioned in the Doomsday Book, but Locksley Hall as she is now was built in the early eighteenth century."

"Positively modern, for Yorkshire, then," Mrs Crawley teased as they turned into Locksley's driveway, and then Sir Anthony heard her exhale loudly in surprise. "Oh! She's _beautiful!_"

The red brick glowed in the late afternoon sun, and the masses of large sash-windows flashed and glimmered. _Oh, the rooms will be so light!_ Edith thought as Sir Anthony opened the car door for her and she stepped out. "We'll give you the full tour later," Sir Anthony reassured her, seeing that Mrs Crawley had made no move towards the house. "Please, come and meet the staff."

Inside the hall, the valet - Mr Stewart? - that Edith had met at her interview took her coat and Sir Anthony's, giving her a friendly nod as he did so. "Mr Stewart you'll remember from London?"

"Yes. Hello." Sir Anthony gestured towards the other three people who awaited her.

"Mrs Dale, my housekeeper."

Mrs Dale was tall and broad and red-faced and very cheerful. "Mrs Crawley, very nice to meet you. I'll take you up to your room in a moment, and you can tell me if there's anything you're missing."

"Thank you, Mrs Dale."

"Mrs Cox, my cook."

Mrs Cox - small and squat and sharp-eyed - appraised Edith carefully. "You'll be wanting a good dinner later, Mrs Crawley. Travel always leaves you with a large appetite, in my experience."

"I am rather hungry, yes - thank you, Mrs Cox."

"And, of course, Master Phillip. My son."

"Hello, Mrs Crawley." Phillip held out his hand for her to shake. He had the look of a boy who had been forcibly dressed in his best clothes, and his face still bore the redness of skin that had been freshly scrubbed.

"Good afternoon, Master Phillip," Edith smiled.

"These are for you," Master Phillip added, pulling a small bunch of lavender from behind his back.

Edith lifted them to her nose and inhaled their lovely, slightly sharp fragrance. "They're lovely. Thank you very much, Master Phillip. I shall put them in some water as soon as I go upstairs."

"You can call me 'Pip', if you like - everyone does," Phillip shrugged. "I say, Papa said you were clever - he didn't say you were pretty, too!"

Sir Anthony flushed crimson as Mrs Crawley let out a surprised laugh like bells ringing. "That's… awfully kind of you to say so, Master Pip."

"Why don't you go and help Mrs Cox with the tea, Pip?" Anthony asked gently. "Mrs Crawley is rather tired from her long journey."

"Yes, come along, Master Pip," Mrs Cox announced firmly, hooking Master Pip's arm into her own and heading in the direction of what Edith assumed was the kitchen. "Which jam d'you want with your scones - apricot or raspberry?"

"Please, forgive my son," he sighed as the hall cleared. "It comes of his mother dying so young - he isn't used to having young women in the house."

"I think he's charming, sir." Mrs Crawley shook her head and added wryly, "My brother-in-law Richard has two nephews and _they're_ perfect horrors."

Sir Anthony grinned shyly. "He takes after his mother. She… could have charmed the hind legs off a donkey. There's hardly any of me in him at all."

"Except his eyes," Mrs Crawley blurted out. "He has your eyes," she murmured.

He ducked his head. "Yes, well… perhaps you'd like to see your room, before tea? Mrs Dale?"

"Of course, sir." The housekeeper bustled forwards and relieved Edith of her suitcase. "Come along, my dear."

As Mrs Crawley began to walk up the stairs, Mrs Dale cast a look of firm approval back at her employer.

_Wonderful,_ Anthony thought as he pushed open the library door. _Finally I've managed to do _something _right._


	5. Settling In

Sunlight flooded through Edith's windows as she woke the next morning.

For a moment, she couldn't quite remember where she was, and then she blinked open her eyes and recalled. She was in her bedroom, at Locksley, in Yorkshire.

She had almost thought Mrs Dale had made a mistake, when she had first opened the door for her last night. The first impression she had had was of space and light and airiness. Then, on second glance, a double bed, a dressing table, mahogany wardrobe… "I - I think there's been some mistake, Mrs Dale. I - "

"Nonsense, my dear. Sir Anthony insisted that you have pleasant quarters, and I thought this room might suit. This was his sister, Mrs Chetwood's room, when she still lived at Locksley." As she spoke, Mrs Dale bustled around the room, smoothing the peach bedspread, stirring the fire up, twitching the curtain straight. "Of course she was Miss Diana, then. She lives in Washington now, in America. Her husband's a diplomat, with the Foreign Office."

Mrs Dale looked up to see Edith still hovering in the doorway, clutching her bunch of lavender to her chest. A sympathetic smile passed over her face. "Poor lamb, you must be exhausted!" She hooked Edith's arm into hers and drew her further into the room. "Now, just you sit down on the bed here, and we'll unpack your things, shall we? And then I'll have a tray sent up for you."

Edith looked up anxiously. "Oh, but I think Sir Anthony was planning to show me the house, and my duties. I should - "

"Sir Anthony," Mrs Dale interrupted in the tones of a woman not used to being refused, "can wait. You'll be no good to him if you're falling asleep where you stand, lass."

And so Edith had been very kindly but very firmly put to bed with dinner on a tray. She had fallen asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, and by the looks of things, the morning was somewhat advanced already.

Downstairs, Edith hesitated. No one had mentioned where she would be taking her meals. For a moment, she hovered in the hallway, and then the clatter of shoes on the stairs made her turn. "Good morning, Mrs Crawley!" Pip grinned cheerfully, and then asked, "Are you looking for the breakfast room?"

"I - um - I'm not sure whether - "

"Come on." Pip grabbed her hand and pulled her across the hall. "Papa won't mind. He's not strict at all." Pushing open the door, he asked unceremoniously, "Papa, is Mrs Crawley having breakfast with us?"

As Edith entered the breakfast room, Sir Anthony rose from the table. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket - it had been discarded over the back of his chair, and Edith noticed for the first time how broad of shoulder he was.

"Good morning," he said quietly and hurried to pull a chair out for her as Pip sat down opposite. As he pushed the chair back in for her, he asked, "I trust you slept well? Your room is comfortable?"

Edith nodded. "Yes, thank you - very comfortable."

Sir Anthony smiled - one of those warm, open smiles he seemed to have an endless supply of - and lifted the teapot. "Tea?"

"Um… thank you, sir." As he poured, Edith asked, "Are - are you sure that I should - um - be here? They're not expecting me in the servants' hall?"

"No," Sir Anthony reassured her. "Mrs Dale thought that this would be more proper than if you were to dine with the scullery-maid." He looked at his son. "And we don't tend to argue with Mrs Dale under this roof, do we, Pip?"

Pip grinned and shook his head, mouth full of eggs. "In any case," Sir Anthony added, "this will give us chance to discuss your duties in more detail." Seeing that she had not yet taken any food, he moved the toast rack closer to her. "Please, eat. We can talk when you've finished."

Looking back on that breakfast a month later, Edith saw that it had set the pattern for her life at Locksley. Breakfast with the Strallan men started her day, after which she would either retire to the small study on the first floor which Sir Anthony had assigned to her, to type his letters or wrangle with the estate accounts; or follow her employer to the main library, where there were boxes upon boxes of dusty books and crackling photograph albums and folders and piles of paperwork associated with the Strallan family.

She enjoyed this more than she had expected she would. Her employer was not content to allow her to shoulder the burden alone; he frequently rolled his sleeves up and helped Edith to empty and sort the contents of the boxes: the family, the house, or both. And as they worked, they talked.

Sir Anthony was really terribly knowledgeable, about all sorts of things. All of the standards for a man of his class and education, of course: economics, politics, history, the Classics, literature, travel… But there were a few things that surprised her: he was keenly interested in car mechanics and farm machinery, gardening, and music. And from some things that he had said in the course of other conversations, Edith believed him to be not only familiar with, but also sympathetic to, suffragist ideals. He never talked down to her or behaved as if her opinions were to be treated with anything other than respect.

And he was _witty_, too - a sense of humour that fitted so well with her own dry streak of mischief that sometimes they found themselves laughing until their sides ached.

It was even nicer when Pip returned from school and joined them. Often, he was back in time to take his tea with them in the library, and help with some of the work.

"Why are you called 'Mrs Crawley', when you haven't got a husband?" Pip asked one day. His father had stepped out to take a telephone call in his study, and Edith and Pip were just setting some boxes back on their relevant shelves.

Edith paused for a moment and then gave Phillip a bright smile. "Because senior female servants are always 'Mrs.'"

Pip frowned, his brow creasing in confusion. "But _you_ aren't a servant. Not like _Molly's_ a servant." He spoke of the new upper housemaid - a plump, cheerful girl with chestnut hair and rosy cheeks, who appeared to have attracted the romantic attentions of most of Locksley's male residents, excepting, of course, Sir Anthony.

"It's a little bit different, I suppose," Edith acknowledged. "But… I still work for your father, just like Molly does."

"So…" Phillip's frown deepened as he tried to puzzle it all out. "So, it's like… being a nun?"

"In what way?" Edith asked absently, making a note on their master list of one of the photograph albums. Sir Anthony wanted to have his mother look over it when next she came to visit, as there were a few people within it whom they had not so far been able to identify.

"Well, they wear wedding rings, don't they - even though they're not married?" Knowledgeably, Pip told her, "Mama's aunt's one, in a convent in Chichester."

"Nuns _are_ married - to _God_," Mrs Crawley corrected wryly. Winking at him over her shoulder, she added, "And _I_ don't wear a habit."

Phillip grinned, showing the gap in his teeth. "Then it must be like you're married to Locksley! To Papa and me!"

Edith bent suddenly and kissed the top of his head, chuckling at the innocence of childhood. Pip was awfully sweet.

All in all, her new situation was so perfectly lovely that it hardly felt like work at all.


	6. In Trouble

**AN: CN/TW for discussions of miscarriage here.**

"Are you _sure_ these boxes aren't too heavy for you?" Anthony asked as he set down his own burden next to hers on the table. They had finally settled on a permanent room in the house for the very grand-sounding 'Strallan family archive' and had spent the morning so far hauling boxes up from the library.

Doubtfully, he looked down at his slender little secretary, at least a foot shorter than him, and wondered how on Earth she had been managing so far. He had tried to ensure he took the heavier boxes himself, but she had still managed to lug a box or two of weighty ledgers upstairs while his back had been turned.

She cast him one of those brilliant, determined looks and flicked a loose coppery curl out of her eyes. "Absolutely sure! Must earn my keep, mustn't I?"

Anthony frowned down at her. "You look awfully flushed. Are you _sure_ you're all right?"

"I'm fine, sir." She gave him a faint, reassuring smile, but it was really little more than a quirk of her mouth. And, when he thought about it, she hadn't been her usual talkative self all day - all week really. "It's a little warm in here," she conceded at his doubtful look.

"Shall I open a window?"

Her back now turned to him, Mrs Crawley was opening the box she had brought up. "I'll do it myself in a moment, once I've sorted this box out."

"Allowing a gentleman to open a window for you doesn't make you any less of a modern, independent New Woman, you know." It was gently, even humorously said, but something there irritated her.

"What a _ridiculous_ thing to say!" Edith bit out. She hadn't been feeling terribly well for the last few days, in fact. Tearful, odd tummy cramps, a pain in her back. Perhaps her body was gearing up for her monthly. Counting back the other night, she had realised she had missed last month's. It had sometimes happened before, when she had been under pressure, but the premenstrual symptoms this time were beyond anything she'd suffered before. Clearly, it was going to be a brutal few days. At least the queasiness that had plagued her for the last week or so seemed to have dissipated, which was a blessed relief.

Everything else, however, was still combining to make her short-tempered. The room was swimming in front of her and she clutched for the desk edge. Her hand slipped, she toppled - and Sir Anthony's arm settled around her and held her upright.

"I'm sorry," Sir Anthony murmured. "Forgive me, if I gave offence." In his arms, Mrs Crawley let out a noise that sounded remarkably like a small

sob. Concerned, Anthony looked down at the top of her head to see that she had covered her face with one of her hands. "I say, you aren't at _all_ well, are you?" he asked.

She shrugged herself out of his hold. "I'm _fine_. Will you go and collect the next box while I deal with this one, sir?"

Anthony hesitated. Would pressing the matter do any good? Probably not. He wasn't her husband, permitted to coddle and fuss over her when she was unwell. Besides, it could be a - _a woman's matter_, and getting involved there would only lead to embarrassment on both sides. It probably was, he thought, as he returned to the library for the next box. Maude had been absolute hell to live with just before her monthlies.

A sharp gasp, as of someone in considerable pain, made him hasten back into the archive. Mrs Crawley was bent almost double over the table, one hand braced against it, the other pressed against her middle, the cold sweat of agony standing out on her forehead. "Mrs Crawley? Whatever is it?"

His kind, warm voice was the only thing to cut through the fog of pain. The cramping had hit her just as she had heard him begin to descend the stairs, a fraction of a moment before she had felt that great, heavy rush of unpleasant wetness between her legs. "Something is-isn't right," she managed through gritted teeth. "I thought - but it's never normally - "

Somehow he seemed to understand. His broad hand was soothing over her own. "My dear girl, I would have been _astonished_ if it _was_," he replied. "Your working day is over, I think - and I'm sending for Dr Clarkson."

She shook her head, a whimper escaping her through the teeth she had clamped down over her lower lip.

"No arguing, please, or I shall ring for Mrs Dale too and she will give you a _thundering_ scold," she heard Sir Anthony order. Her eyes closed in vague appreciation of the joke, but she had no energy left to reply.

"Let's get you to your rooms then. Do you think you can walk?"

Another crashing wave of pain struck at that moment. Edith sucked in a breath and let Sir Anthony hold her up as it passed. He sighed. "I shall take that as a 'no', then." Hesitantly, he checked, "Will you allow me to carry you upstairs? It may be easier for you."

He felt her nod against him. _Lord, it had been a long time since he'd carried a woman anywhere!_

Carefully, he slid one arm around her waist, placing hers around his neck. He bent slightly, tucked the other arm under her knees - and to Edith it felt as if she were suddenly flying. She heard Sir Anthony give a sharp intake of breath and blinked against the sensible tweed of his jacket as he bore her out into the hallway. "What is it?" she asked.

In a voice of forced jollity, Anthony replied, "Just my knee creaking a bit. Never grow old, my dear, it's the very devil."

About to tell him that he was not old, a cramp twisted Edith's belly again and she moaned weakly, one hand fisting tightly in the lapel of his jacket as he climbed the next flight of stairs. Mrs Dale, emerging from the drawing room at this odd sound, gaped at the sight of her employer carrying his secretary along the corridor towards her bedroom. "Sir?"

"Ah, Mrs Dale, excellent." Edith buried her face into the rough tweed and its sensible scent of aftershave and peppermints, quite content to let Sir Anthony take charge. _Not such a New Woman as he supposes! _Edith thought vaguely. "Mrs Crawley has had… a funny turn. Would you be so kind as to telephone Dr Clarkson and ask him to attend at his earliest convenience?"

"Of course, sir."

"Thank you." As his housekeeper turned away, Anthony added, "And afterwards, if you could look in on the little library? It is in a state of… some disarray." The grave, almost ashen expression on her employer's face, coupled with the slight hitch of his voice at the last, convinced Mrs Dale that something was very wrong indeed. "Of course, sir. If you could sit with Mrs Crawley until I return? And leave her door open, to let a breath of air in, hmm?"

His housekeeper's meaning was just as clear to Sir Anthony as his had been to her just moments before. _You can't be sitting in an unmarried woman's bedroom, alone and with the door shut - no matter her condition. It just isn't done._

Reaching Mrs Crawley's door, he nudged it open and bore her through. "Can you stand?" he asked. "Just for a moment, while I put something on the bed?"

Mrs Crawley nodded, and very gently, he set her on her feet.

A moment later, he had spread down a towel for her on the bed and lifted her again to lie on it. "There," he smiled reassuringly. "We'll just wait for Dr Clarkson now. Let's fetch you some water, hmm?"

Twenty minutes later, when Dr Clarkson knocked on the door, he found Mrs Crawley on the bed, Sir Anthony holding her hand. "Hello, Mrs Crawley. What seems to be the trouble?"

Anthony emerged into the corridor to find Mrs Dale walking towards him. "Hello, sir. I've cleaned up most of the… unpleasantness. And I'll go and give the floor a proper scrub once the doctor's gone. Door's locked until then."

Anthony exhaled in relief. The very last thing Mrs Crawley needed just now was for all and sundry to be learning her business. Truly, his housekeeper was a treasure. "Thank you, Mrs Dale."

"Don't mention it, sir." She looked towards the closed bedroom door. "How is she?"

"In a lot of pain, I think." _Not just the physical sort, either. And no wonder! _Well, this wasn't the first miscarriage this house had seen. After Phillip had been born, Maude had lost two little ones, in just such a way - and then, too, he had been helpless to do anything but carry her to bed and hold her hand. "Mrs Dale, I - "

"I keep my own counsel, sir, never you fret. That poor, _sweet_ girl…" She shook her head with a heavy sigh. "Do we have any idea who…?"

Anthony sighed and sank down into the window-seat. "A fair idea, yes." In a stiff voice, he added, "I don't believe that her former employer was… all that he should have been."

Mrs Dale laid an almost motherly hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Well, just as well she's safe here with us, then, sir." Looking down at him appraisingly, she asked, "Get you a cup of tea, sir?"

Sir Anthony gave her a faint, tired smile. "You're a mind-reader, Mrs Dale."

Some thirty minutes later, the doctor emerged. As the door shut behind Dr Clarkson, Sir Anthony launched himself up from the chair outside. "Clarkson. Is she - is the - the child - "

Dr Clarkson rested a consoling hand on his arm. "Mrs Crawley will be quite all right, given proper rest and time to recover. But… she has miscarried her child." He shook his head. "Poor girl. She had no idea she was even - " Clarkson's eyes focused on Sir Anthony. "She will be much calmer, I believe, if her immediate future can be settled right now. She is under some considerable anxiety as to whether…" He inclined his head, making the rest of his meaning clear.

"Of course. I'll go and speak to her immediately - if I may?"

Clarkson nodded. "I've no objection, if she says she feels strong enough. I'll return in a day or so, to examine her. May I speak to Mrs Dale, before I go? Mrs Crawley will need some close care over the next few days."

"Yes. She'll be downstairs."

The doctor clapped him gently on the shoulder and began to descend. Gently, Anthony knocked on Mrs Crawley's door, straightening his shoulders.

"C-come in."

Her voice was thin and reedy, not at all like the sweet, clear, firm tones he had become used to.

Cautiously, he opened the door. She was lying propped up on a mound of pillows in her bed. Somebody - Mrs Dale? - had put her in a nightgown and swathed her shoulders in a shawl. Her coppery-blonde hair fell loose down her shoulders and her eyes and nose were red from weeping. "May I sit?" he asked and Edith was surprised by how gentle his voice sounded.

Silently she nodded and Sir Anthony lowered himself into the bedside chair. "Can I fetch you anything?" he asked. Mutely, she shook her head.

"And you aren't in - in any pain?"

She blushed but shook her head again. "Dr Clarkson gave me...something. I don't remember what."

Kindly, Sir Anthony reassured her. "That's all right then. As long as… well, you are comfortable."

They sat there in silence for several long minutes and then Sir Anthony asked the burning question. "Was this… Mr Gregson?"

Mrs Crawley turned shocked, red-rimmed eyes up to meet his own steady gaze. Eventually she nodded weakly. "H-how did you guess?"

She was surprised by the wan kindness in his face. "It wasn't terribly difficult, child," he sighed, sounding much older than his forty-something years. "At your interview, when you seemed so anxious about mentioning him, so - so tense…" He paused. "I thought that he had perhaps… _made advances_. I had no idea that he had… well…" Sir Anthony flushed and fell silent.

Edith looked away. It was only to be expected, after all, that he would be so disgusted that he could not even name the shame she had brought upon herself - upon her family - perhaps even upon his, if word ever got out. Sounding braver than she felt, Edith murmured, "Wh-what happens now, sir?" She could not bear to turn her eyes to his again, could not bear to see that face - that face that had inexplicably become so dear to her, in such a short space of time - filled with loathing or reproach, or pity.

"Of - of course," she pressed on, choking down the urge to plead with him, "I understand the very difficult position I've placed you in. I'm not a fit person to be managing your affairs, not with - with Master Pip here too. If you wish to dismiss me, then - then that would be no more than I deserve, sir." _Wonderful. You'll be sent back to Mama disgraced and without a character. And all for the sake of needing some cheap excitement. Really Edith, you are the stupidest girl to ever walk the earth!_

It was a horrible thought. She had been so happy, these last few weeks. She had had a purpose, a reason for pressing onwards through the mire that leaving Michael had plunged her into. She had been valued, depended upon, respected. She had found allies, people who seemed to like her, who might one day have come to care for her. She had had Sir Anthony's smiles and Master Pip's liveliness and she had been contented with her lot.

And now everything had been spoiled.

A warm hand reached out and covered her own small, somehow fragile fingers and squeezed, the slightest of pressures, so faint that, at first, Edith did not quite believe that it was there. Eventually, she chanced a glimpse at his face. His expression was grave, sombre but not unkind. "My dear girl, there is no question of dismissing you. I think that you have endured more than enough awfulness over the past months and I have no intention whatsoever of adding to that burden."

Over the roaring of relief in her ears, Edith heard herself stutter, "Then I - I can stay? You aren't turning me out?"

Sir Anthony shook his head with an expression of extraordinary gentleness. "No. We'll care for you." His expression grew more determined. "And if you wish to - to see Gregson punished for what he has done to you, then you will have my full support. I'll speak to my own solicitor, if you'd like."

Edith stared at him, unable for a moment to speak. So that was what it was. That was why he was being so very kind to her. He thought that Michael had forced himself on her, dreamt that the child had been conceived in pain and violence. Edith flushed. She would have to tell him the truth, of course - she could not lie, the dishonesty of it, she thought, would kill her and she had been too dishonest with him, with everyone, already.

"And," Sir Anthony continued, "please know that you are _absolutely_ safe here. Nothing like this will happen to you again. My word as a Strallan."

"Sir Anthony," Edith whispered, "you - you have somewhat mistaken the situation."

"I'm sorry?" His kind face creased in confusion. "I don't understand."

She swallowed dryly and Anthony passed her her glass of water. "I - Michael - Mr Gregson - didn't force himself on me."

Sir Anthony blinked. "He _didn't_?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Edith murmured wearily, exhausted by this extraordinary apparent ignorance of any idea that she could have been complicit in her own ruin. "Haven't you worked it all out yet?"

"Worked what out?" he whispered, still uncomprehending.

Edith turned her head aside, miserable tears slipping down her cheeks.

"I wasn't his _victim_," she mumbled thickly. "I was his _mistress_."


	7. A Confession

**AN: Thank you for all the lovely reviews so far! It makes the writing so much more fun, when I have you all along for the ride!**

* * *

For a moment, there was absolute silence and then Sir Anthony asked, "Do you mean - "

Edith couldn't let him finish the question. Gritting her teeth, she clarified, "I mean exactly what everyone means when they use… _that_ _word_."

"I see." He rose from his chair and strode to the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Edith watched him in silence, convinced that he was trying to find the words to dismiss her. Or would he wait, until she was stronger, more recovered from her collapse? Eventually, without turning around, he asked, "How did this happen?"

"Does that really matter?" Edith asked.

"Of _course_ it matters!" Sir Anthony sighed. "I do not think you the sort of woman who would - would - would take such a step without good cause."

Edith was glad at that moment that his back was turned to her. If he had been looking at her, she did not know what she might have done. "Then your faith has been utterly misplaced." Despite the harshness of her words, her voice was quiet. "I had no cause save - save that of lust, I suppose."

His shoulders seemed to stiffen. "But - "

Mrs Crawley's quiet, slightly shaky voice interrupted. "I'd been working for him for about four months. We - he offered me a drink one evening - I was upset about my father's death - and then he kissed me and - " She stopped and swallowed. "And neither of us w-wanted to stop." She flushed. Somehow, Edith didn't want Sir Anthony to think of her like that - her skirts hoiked up around her waist, being compromised on a sofa. It had seemed thrilling, at the time, but now the memory of it filled her with deep burning shame.

Sir Anthony turned. "What ended it?" He lifted an eyebrow. "I - I presume that it _is _ended?"

Mutely, she nodded. And then Edith told him - told him about Michael's mother-in-law, about her own guilt, about that awful final conversation before she had left. She didn't notice that she was crying again until Sir Anthony presented her with his handkerchief.

"So there you have it," she murmured eventually. "I imagine that this will have changed your opinion considerably."

Sir Anthony lowered himself into the bedside chair again. "No," he replied briefly. "It hasn't."

"But you…"

He swallowed thickly. "Forgive me. I was surprised, that's all. It - it isn't the sort of thing one hears every day."

He seemed to be trying so hard, trying to excuse her and her behaviour, and she had no idea why. "Sir - "

"This man took advantage of you." It was stated baldly, firmly. "You were his employee, a young, unmarried woman living in his home, under his protection. His behaviour should have been - " He stopped, lips pressed tightly together, and Edith was flooded with a sudden rush of warmth at his outrage on her behalf. Taking a deep breath, Sir Anthony continued. "He should _not_ have been getting you intoxicated and preying on your - your inexperience."

"I - he didn't f-force me," Edith reminded him. "I _did_ w-want him too."

"I'm afraid that that makes really very little difference to my opinion of him, my dear." His face creased into a slight smile. "In situations such as that, it is a gentleman's responsibility to ensure that clearer heads prevail. The consequences to a woman's reputation - rightly or wrongly - will _always_ be more severe than to a man's, and he should have known that and controlled himself."

"I'm sorry," Edith mumbled, looking down at her lap. "I should have told you right at the start."

Sir Anthony shook his head. "No. It was… a private matter."

"You aren't even shocked, not really." Edith let out a slight, unhappy laugh. "Goodness, what impression have I been giving of myself?"

He winced - he actually _winced_. "Your respectability has _never_ been in question - not under this roof. I promise you. _It still isn't._" He hesitated. "You have no idea how highly we all think of you."

"That… was a very kind thing to say. Th-thank you."

Sir Anthony rose from his chair. "Well… I'll leave you to rest - and we'll have no more talk of resignations or dismissals, please. As long as I am master here, you will have a place."

* * *

Edith slept for much of the afternoon. When she woke, Mrs Dale brought her a tray of food and stood over her as she forced herself to eat it. Every mouthful tasted like sawdust. Then she slept again.

When she awoke again, the room was half in darkness. Mrs Dale must have been in again because the water jug had been refreshed, the curtains drawn and a single lamp had been switched on.

Looking around at the bland normality of it all, Edith found herself weeping again. Now that the shock had worn off a little, she did not know what to feel.

Children had always been something of an abstract concept for her. In those idle daydreams she had sometimes had, of a husband and marriage, she had thought that there might have been babies, but they had not been essential. She did not think she had ever _ached_ for them, in the way some women did.

With Michael, stupidly, she did not even believe she had thought of it. She had trusted Michael, trusted him to… prevent any consequences. And, in fairness, it had worked for a time. Now that she thought of it, it must have been one of the very last times they had...

She sighed. What did it matter anyway? Now in the space of an afternoon, she had been an expectant mother and then a… was there a word for a mother who had lost a child? She did not think there was.

Losing the baby certainly made everything… simpler. But Edith could not help, in some deep corner of her heart, wondering what it might have been like had her little one not died inside her. If they had grown and been born. In her mind's eye, Edith saw a curly-haired scamp of a child, head buried in a book, lifting their face to press sticky kisses to their mother's cheek…

Tears rolled down Edith's cheeks as she drifted away.

* * *

A gentle knock at the door roused her from her stupor. "Come in?"

Sir Anthony's head appeared around the door. "Hello." He looked at Edith's still-pale cheeks, streaked with half-dried tears and asked, "Have you slept? Eaten?"

Edith nodded. "Yes. Thank you, sir."

"Good." He ducked his head, half-sheepishly. "I only came to say that I have a young gentleman just down the hall who wonders if he can come to say goodnight to you." In a quieter voice, he added, "Don't feel obligated, of course. I can tell him that you were already asleep, if you don't feel quite equal to his japes just now."

Edith smiled faintly and reached for her handkerchief. It had been such a horrid day. Perhaps Pip's innocence would be as a balm, soothing her aching heart. "No, that's all right. Send him in."

Turning away, Sir Anthony paused for a moment. "He's been told you fainted, badly, and bumped your head, and that he isn't to plague you with questions about it."

_Masterly use of the passive voice_, Edith thought, half-fondly. Undoubtedly, it had been Sir Anthony himself who had impressed upon his son the importance of a lack of inquisitiveness tonight.

Pip indeed had the look of a boy who had been sternly warned: he entered as silently as a church mouse and perched hesitantly on the end of her bed. "Do you feel _really_ rotten?" he asked at last, chancing an anxious glance at her as he fiddled with the belt on his dressing gown.

Edith adjusted the folds of her shawl. "Not _too _rotten, thank you. Better than I did earlier."

Pip's shoulders sank in what she was surprised to notice was relief, and his expression became hopeful. "Then you aren't going to - " He stopped suddenly, going red.

Gently, Edith reached out and ruffled his hair, her heart aching for this boy who had seen far more death and grief than any child his age should have. "No," she reassured him. "I'm just feeling a bit… fragile, just now."

He offered her a sheepish grin. "I heard Papa _carried_ _you_ upstairs. Did he really?"

For a moment, Edith felt the ghost of Sir Anthony's arms, warm and strong as he bore her upstairs to safety, and flushed slightly. "Y-yes. He was - very kind." She smiled as the clock chimed the half-hour. "You should be off to bed now, my dear."

He hopped down from the bed obediently. At the door, he turned back. "Goodnight, Mrs Crawley."

"Goodnight, Pip. Sleep well."

* * *

By Wednesday, Edith was positively aching to be out of bed. Sitting still only gave her more time to brood and that was no use to anyone. Dr Clarkson came to examine her in the morning and pronounced her fit for duty again, which was a relief, so after lunch - when Mrs Dale had offered no more than a slightly disapproving sigh and vague shake of her head to Edith's suggestion that she might get up that afternoon - Edith dressed and descended gingerly to the next floor down.

"Mrs Crawley?" Mrs Cox asked as she emerged from the little library. "I wasn't expecting you to be down today!" She set aside her empty tea tray and, to Edith's surprise, took her hands and looked hard into her face with surprising sympathy. "How are you feeling, lass?"

Edith shrugged. "Just… you know. But… no point moping about, is there?"

Mrs Cox squeezed her hands. "That's the way, lass. Don't let it swallow you, hmm?" With motherly tenderness, she reached up and cupped Edith's cheek with a calloused hand that smelt vaguely of flour. "How's your appetite? Could you manage a cup of tea and a sandwich, do you think?"

Edith's stomach grumbled as she nodded vigorously, making the cook chuckle. "That would be… _perfect_, Mrs Cox. You - you and Mrs Dale have been so kind and I - "

Mrs Cox cut her off. "If the words 'thank you' come out of your mouth, my girl, I shall put you over my knee!" she scolded lightly. "You know, it's tidied Sir Anthony and Master Pip up something lovely, having someone young and bright like you about the place. Least we can do is look after you. Now, you go on in to the master and I'll bring it all up to you, hmm?" And she bustled off, leaving Edith not a little nonplussed.

_But I haven't done anything at all!_

In the little library, all traces of blood had been scrubbed away, for which she was profoundly grateful. Sir Anthony sat at his desk, in just his shirt sleeves and waistcoat, the fire crackling behind him to take the chill out of the November air, as he scribbled away at the letter in front of him. Edith paused on the threshold for a moment, arms folded across her, wrapping her cardigan about her, and watched him. A curl of slightly greying blonde hair flopped onto his forehead and Edith's fingers itched absurdly with the urge to go to him and brush it away.

"Hello," she announced at last and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

"Hello!" Sir Anthony rose immediately from his desk at the sound of her voice. "Should you be up and about just yet?" His face was creased with concern. Edith attempted a small smile.

"Absolutely! I've had enough rest to kill me!" Firmly, she sat down in her accustomed seat opposite him. "Now, sir, tell me what you've been working on, if you please."

To her surprise, he avoided her eye. At length, he replied, "This morning, a letter to your mama."

Edith's face drained of colour. "_I beg your pardon?"_

"I was going to show you the letter first," he reassured her.

"I don't want her to know about - about _any_ of this!" Edith protested. Blinking back tears, she whispered, "She - she would be _so_ disappointed in me, sir."

"If you don't wish to - to confide in her, we could simply say that you have been ill - influenza, perhaps - and need her care." Sir Anthony looked up at her tiredly. "You ought to have some time to - to recuperate. I hoped that - "

"_Are you sending me away?"_ Edith asked suddenly. It was like a ball of lead had sunk into her stomach. Perhaps now that he had had time to reconsider, he had seen all the disadvantages of employing her and -

"No - Mrs Crawley - I - "

"Because I will do _anything_ to have another chance!" Panic was making her voice high as she squeaked out, "Sir Anthony, my conduct will be - "

"Mrs Crawley, I am _not _dismissing you!" he said loudly.

"Y-you _aren't?"_ Edith checked.

"_No_. What cause would I have?" He leant back in his chair and surveyed her seriously. "You have been… efficiency itself. I could not ask for a more competent secretary." As Mrs Crawley subsided once more into her seat, he promised, "My dear girl, I am only concerned that you have time to… restore yourself to full strength. Just a week perhaps, or a fortnight."

Edith sighed. "A week, then. Just to satisfy you, sir."

"Thank you," he smiled dryly.

"But _I_ will write and ask Mama if it is convenient," Edith bargained.

* * *

Unfortunately, it _was _convenient. So the following Friday found Edith and her suitcase being packed into Sir Anthony's Rolls. "I hope you get better soon," Pip sighed as he shook hands goodbye. "When will you be back?"

"I'll see you in a week's time," Edith promised. On impulse, she bent and kissed his cheek. Pip flushed bright red. "Miss you," he mumbled, eyes on his shoes.

"I shall miss you too, my dear."

"Pip, Mrs Crawley will miss _her train_ if we don't leave now," Sir Anthony called from the front seat.

Woodenly, Edith climbed in. As they drove away, she kept her eyes firmly on her lap; if she looked up, she knew she would burst into tears.


	8. Apart

**AN: Borrowing a great Mary line from canon here…**

* * *

When she reached London, it was dark, and a cold, wet wind had set in. Richard had sent his driver for her, which was helpful, since it gave her time alone to compose herself. By the time she arrived at the Carlisle household, she looked, she thought, perfectly respectable - if a little pale and peaky. There was nothing about her to suggest that she had had anything other than a very nasty bout of the influenza.

Her family were just as she had left them - Mama fussed and fretted and swathed her in shawls and didn't listen to a word she said; Sybil squeezed her hand and snuggled up to her on the sofa in sympathy; Mary feigned cold disinterest and complained that she would have to rethink menus for the whole week ("You're so thin! No one will marry a stick-insect, you know!"); and Richard shook hands formally, but asked with what seemed to be real concern whether she was all right and how the journey had been.

Edith put up with Mama, soothed and petted Sybil, sniped back at Mary, and reassured Richard - and when the evening was over and she was finally permitted to retire, she curled up in her bed and sobbed silent, wracking tears until her pillow was soaked through.

* * *

"Will you be well enough for the dinner party tonight?" Mary asked as Edith sat down at the breakfast table two days later.

"Dinner party?" her sister asked weakly, pouring herself a cup of tea.

"_Yes_," Mary sighed impatiently. "I _did_ tell you. Some friends of mine, a business associate or two of Richard's - oh, and some journalist fellow he's trying to persuade to take a job at the paper." She frowned, trying to recall the name. "Bramwell? Brampton?"

"Branson," her husband corrected at her shoulder, as he leaned past her to steal a slice of toast from her plate and kiss her cheek. Mary let out a slight indignant gasp - at the kiss or the theft, Edith couldn't have said - but when Richard withdrew, her cheekbones were slightly flushed.

"I won't be leaving the office until six at the earliest," Richard added, shrugging into his coat one-handed. _Really,_ Edith thought, _he's horridly informal - not even sitting down for a proper breakfast, and then dressing in front of her! Not the sort of thing I'd think Mary could _tolerate_, let alone _forgive_. I wonder what it is about him that she finds so attractive._ "I'll collect him on my way home, Mary."

Mary half-twisted in her chair to look up at him. "Well, dinner is being served at eight o'clock sharp. If you are late - "

"I _shan't_ be late."

"You say that," she retorted dryly, "but I had to endure dinner alone with the Cavendishes last month because of your creative approach to punctuality."

A glint of amusement in his eye, Richard brushed an almost careless thumb across her cheek. "Ah, but you forget - I hate the Cavendishes, and happen to rather enjoy _your_ company." Possessively, he twisted a loose curl of Mary's hair around his finger briefly, and then tucked it back in place behind her ear. "I shan't be late," he repeated firmly, and was gone.

Edith looked down at her plate, her appetite vanished as swiftly as her brother-in-law. "So? Will you?" Mary pressed.

Edith sighed. "_Must_ I?" Truly, she did not want to do anything just now apart from sit in a comfortable chair and be coddled until it was time to go and lie in a comfortable bed.

"Yes," Mary insisted, "or you'll put my table completely out. _Someone_ must sit with Mr Percival, after all. He's dull and worthy too."

If Edith had not been educated by a series of rather terrifyingly strict governesses, she might have rolled her eyes. As it was, she looked up and smiled sweetly at her older sister. "In that case, Mary, how can I refuse? I couldn't _possibly_ deprive Mr Percival of your company."

"Ha-ha." Mary scanned the newspaper - one of her husband's - in front of her. "Have you ever considered going on the stage?"

"I already have a job, thank you. Who are you pairing Mama and Sybil with?"

Mary looked up frowningly. "_Mama_ has the dubious joy of dining with Granny and Aunt Rosamund tonight. She wants to lecture Mama about Sybil - that's why we weren't invited."

Edith chased a forkful of eggs around her plate. "For which mercy may we be _truly_ thankful. What about Sybil? Or has she been exiled to the nursery for the evening?"

Sybil, it seemed, had not improved in the month or so Edith had been away. There had been another flaming row the evening before which had culminated in Mama retiring with a splitting headache and Richard roundly scolding his youngest sister-in-law until she had fled the room in angry tears. "I'm having to sit her with this Branson fellow," Mary sighed. "You know she'd never put up with a dullard like Percival, and both the Lyndseys and the Sandersons are newlyweds - I have to seat them together. And if I'd tried to invite another single woman, I'd have had to find _another_ single man for Sybil too and…" Mary shrugged helplessly.

Edith shook her head and finished her tea. "Well, you _chose_ to be Lady Carlisle, Mary."

Mary stood from the table, brushing out her skirt. "The irony is, being Richard's wife is the _only_ thing that makes the whole circus bearable."

* * *

Mary was almost ready when she heard the front door shutting downstairs, a slight pause, and then her husband's firm, masterly tread on the stairs. Her bedroom door opened a moment later - he had not knocked, Sir Richard Carlisle never _knocked_ \- and then he was there. "Thank you, Anna," Mary smiled thinly. "That will be all."

"Very good, my lady."

"You didn't need to dismiss your maid on my account," Richard assured her, advancing forwards. He had changed at the office, evidently - when they had married, Mary had flatly forbidden him from spending another night on the sofa-bed he kept there, but he did sometimes use the attached bathroom if he thought he wouldn't have time to change for dinner when he arrived home. Lord, he really was _horribly_ handsome in white tie, she mused as he approached.

"I did, if I didn't want her to be awfully shocked by how informal you are in this room," Mary replied, in tones that would have been teasing in any other woman. Her husband did nothing to disprove her words, instead leaning forwards, bracing both hands on the back of her chair and pressing his mouth to the crease between her shoulder and her collarbone.

"See?" he murmured, his breath warm and inviting against her bare flesh. "I told you I wouldn't be late."

"Mmm," Mary exhaled, a hitch in her voice. "I suppose there's a - a first time for everything."

Instead of replying, he lifted the two necklaces Anna had set out for her mistress's choice and offered them to his wife, lifting an inquiring eyebrow at her in the mirror. "Diamonds or rubies?" he wondered.

"In this dress?" Mary asked, her old sharpness reasserting itself. "Diamonds, obviously."

"And am I permitted to tell you how beautiful you look?" he asked, as he placed the strands of silver around her neck and did up the catch.

"Of course - as long as you remember that when my dressmaker's bill arrives." As she spoke, she pulled on her long black evening gloves.

"Ah." And was that his _teeth_ she could feel, just for a second, nipping at her exposed shoulder? _God_, she hoped it was. It always boded well for later, when he came home in this sort of playful, seductive mood. "Horribly expensive, I suppose?" he checked, lifting his head to meet her eyes in the mirror.

"_Frightfully,_" she agreed, sounding so very unlike herself that she had to close her eyes for a moment to still the heady, dizzying rush of feeling curling through her belly at the low burr of his voice and the slight roughness of his fingers.

"I may have to exact penance commensurate with its cost," he teased.

Flirtatiously, she met his eyes in the mirror as she rose. "I should jolly well hope so. Otherwise, it will have been a _shocking_ waste."

His eyes half-closed in appreciation as a low chuckle escaped him. "You're a wicked minx, Mary Carlisle." His hand found her hip, firm and reassuring through the layers of dark violet satin, and pulled her close. "God," he groaned just before their mouths met, and it sounded like a curse, "_God_, I love you."

"Richard," Mary mumbled regretfully against his mouth, although her hands were running happily up his chest, beneath his tailcoat, "_guests_. They'll be arriving soon."

"Your sisters are down there, aren't they?" He kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly, and then drew back with a sigh, resting his forehead against her own. "Although, on second thoughts, I don't suppose we _really_ want to give Sybil the chance to offend someone else…" He frowned. "How's Edith been?" he asked suddenly. "I still think this sudden homecoming is… mysterious, somehow."

Mary sighed; this would be the third time they had had this conversation since Mama had received Edith's letter towards the end of the previous week. "Edith's about as mysterious as a _bucket_. I don't know why you're so interested."

"I don't know why you _aren't_," Richard returned, lifting a sharp eyebrow. "She is your _sister_."

Uncomfortably, his wife shrugged. "Yes, but not - not like _Sybil _is. You can't ever feel _sorry_ for Edith - she's always been so - so sharp and self-sufficient."

Richard chuckled quietly. "And who does _that_ remind you of, I wonder?" He shook his head. "Well, I've looked into this Sir Anthony, anyway. I can't find anyone willing to say a bad word about the man."

"You sound almost annoyed." Mary checked her hair one last time in the mirror and pursed her lips at her husband's continuing frown. "She had _influenza_, Richard - nothing strange or mysterious in that. I don't know what you think has happened - it isn't as if girls like Edith get associated with _scandals_. I'd say it's more likely that the Queen will be caught running naked through Hyde Park!"

Smiling at her own joke, and satisfied that the conversation was closed, Mary hooked her arm under his and pulled him towards the door.

* * *

"Anthony, darling!" Claudia Gervas slid her hand under his arm and bobbed up to kiss his cheek, exuberant and informal as always. "We're _so_ glad that you could come."

"Hello, Claudia," Anthony grinned ruefully. "Thank you for the invitation." That was a lie. In truth, the thought of tonight's dinner invitation had been rather an inconvenience. The last few days had been somewhat chaotic - with no Mrs Crawley about, letters and paperwork and accounts had all been dumped back onto his desk, and in truth, he was struggling to keep up with the bally mess. Who would have thought when he hired her that she would, _so_ quickly, become _so_ indispensable? More than that, he… _liked_ the girl. She was clever and quick and had a good sense of humour. She worked hard and didn't mind Pip's occasional nonsense. Mrs Dale and Mrs Cox had quite taken her under their collective wing. And now she was in London and… there was a gap in their little household, waiting for her to come back and fill it. It had left him feeling… odd, and not at all ready for a dinner among such lively people as the Gervases tended to invite.

"Always so formal!" Lady Gervas chuckled. "Really, it's too sweet of you." She turned and began to tug him in the direction of the drawing room. "Now, I know you don't tend to show to advantage with strangers, so I've put you next to Lady Fyfe - she's just out of mourning, and I thought it would be nice, you and she being such old chums."

Anthony looked down at her, alarmed. "My dear Claudia, I was never more than on nodding terms with Fyfe even when we were at school together - and I've _certainly_ never met his wife! Where did you get the idea that I knew her?"

Lady Gervas squeezed his arm. "You're always so _literal_, Anthony, honestly. It's _Virginia_. Surely you remember Virginia Holloway? As I recall it, you spent a whole summer mooning over her when we were children. Diana and I thought it was quite riotously funny."

"_Virginia Holloway_? Good Lord, that's a name I haven't heard in… a _very_ long time." Anthony frowned darkly. "How on _earth_ did a dolt like Fyfe manage to marry a girl like Ginny?"

Claudia didn't reply, just pushed open the drawing room door and announced to the room at large, "Just look who I found skulking in the hall, everyone!"

Claudia's husband Hugh turned to shake hands. "Anthony, old boy! Good to see you." With a jerk of his head, Hugh guided them both into a discreet spot by the fire. "Just to tip you the wink, Anthony," Hugh murmured, "Claudia's invited Ginny Holloway."

"Yes, I know," Anthony shrugged, puzzled. Then, understanding dawned. "Oh. Don't tell me. She's trying to pair me off again?"

Hugh dug his hand into his pocket, looking apologetic. "'Fraid so. What else is she s'posed to do, now that Sarah's settled?" Sarah was the Gervas's youngest daughter and fourth child, the apple of her doting papa's eye. She had married a major in the Army the previous month, but it seemed that the success of all her matrimonial ambitions where her daughters were concerned had done absolutely nothing to damp down Lady Gervas's enthusiasm for matchmaking. Anthony grimaced. "Hugh, I'm not looking for another wife - I doubt I ever _shall_ be. Couldn't you hint to Claudia that she's - well, you know, barking up the wrong tree?"

Hugh clapped him on the shoulder. "You've known her even longer than I have, old man. How well d'you think _that'll_ go over?" Bracingly, he pointed out, "At least it's only Ginny Holloway. You used to get on quite well, didn't you? And - " (this with an almost-roguish wink) " - she's still just as much of a corker as she was twenty years ago. You might just enjoy yourself…"

* * *

**AN: And next time, two dinners!**


	9. Two Dinners

It did not take long to spot Virginia - she still had the same head of absolutely night-black curls she had had twenty years ago, still those same rich curves, still that same tinkling, twinkling laugh, still that rich, throaty voice that had used to seem a little too grown-up for a girl barely into her mid-twenties.

"Virginia?" he asked somewhat apprehensively.

She turned, the laugh still fading from her face as her companions turned away to greet someone else. "Hello, I - _Anthony_?" She looked astonished. "Anthony _Strallan?_" Her face split into a sudden wide smile.

He returned it somewhat tiredly. "The very same. How are you?"

Virginia lifted a dry eyebrow. "Playing the merry widow, according to my mother-in-law. You?"

"My wife died two years ago." It was not precisely what she had asked, but somehow the words had just come… tumbling out.

Her face fell, and Anthony regretted his sudden confession. "Oh, Anthony, I'm sorry. That… was a _horribly_ crass joke of mine."

"Not at all." He cleared his throat. "I'm… sorry, about George."

Virginia's lips pursed briefly. "Then you may very well be one of only ten people in the world who are." She looked at him half-sharply, and gave a little fluid shrug. "But after you threw me over for Maude…" The sentence was left hanging, but Anthony was in no doubt as to that with which a less well-bred woman might have finished it.

"Virginia…" He could feel himself going red, the heat of long-buried shame rising up in him for a moment. He could freely admit now, as he had not been able to as a young man, that he had behaved… if not precisely _badly_, at least _carelessly_. There had been no agreement between him and Virginia - nothing _firm_ had been said - but he knew as well as she did that if Maude had not entered the picture, all golden curls and mischief, Virginia Fyfe would have been Virginia Strallan.

Gently, she touched his arm. "It's all right. She was… _very_ beautiful."

Anthony sighed, looking down sheepishly at their feet for a moment. "I didn't marry her for that reason, you know."

To his surprise, Virginia gave him a warm smile. "I know you didn't, my dear." Somewhat cryptically, she added, "_That_ was what made us all so horribly jealous of her."

The dinner gong clanged in the background. "I think I'm taking you in, Virginia," Anthony said, holding out his arm.

She slid her gloved palm under it, and gave his elbow a brief squeeze. "Oh, darling Anthony - don't say you're going to be this formal _all_ evening? Call me Ginny, and be done with it…"

* * *

"I suppose you've read about these nonsensical suffragette pillar box attacks?" Mr Percival asked at Edith's shoulder.

"Yes, I had," Edith replied briefly. _As if everyone in the country hasn't been talking about it for the last day!_ Mr Percival was as dull as Mary had promised, but now Edith was glad that he had been sat next to her, rather than Sybil. Perhaps her younger sister would not have -

"_Nonsensical_, Mr Percival?"

Edith's heart sank at Sybil's voice from across the table, her dark head lifting from where it had been bent with eager attention just a moment before towards Mr Branson's. Lord only knew what they had been discussing for the past course - with Percival nattering incessantly in her ear, Edith had rather lost track after they had moved on from the miners' minimum wage. _And where had Sybil been reading about that?_ Edith had thought her sister's politics were more singular than that.

Percival chuckled patronisingly. "Don't tell me that your sister-in-law is one of these - these skirted anarchists, Carlisle! Lock them up and throw away the key, I say."

Edith saw Sybil begin to swell with indignation; apparently Mr Branson had noticed the same thing, because he intervened before Sybil could even open her mouth. "Don't be ungallant, Mr Percival. You must admire their courage, if nothing else." Looking down the table, Mr Branson added, "Don't you agree, Sir Richard?"

Edith shot him a grateful look as Richard took a sip of wine. Sybil's mouth twisted. "Oh, Richard's just going to tell you how he would like us all silent and submissive, Mr Branson."

To Edith's surprise, Richard chuckled. "Yes, Sybil. I'm sure Mary will tell you much better than I how well _that's_ worked out for me."

The whole table, save Percival, dissolved into laughter, the tension utterly broken. Under cover of it, Edith caught Mr Branson's eye and mouthed a silent _thank you_. He winked briefly at her, and turned his attention back to Sybil. "Have you read any J.S. Mill, Miss Sybil? He's old hat now, of course, but a lot of his ideas are still sound, and very concurrent with your own - you'd enjoy _The Subjection of Women_, very much, I think."

"No, I haven't." Sybil turned her head. "Richard? Do you have any J.S. Mill?"

Richard smirked. "You insult me in one breath and want to raid my library in the next? Will you be this contrary when you have the vote, my dear Sybil?"

Edith braced herself for the inevitable explosion… but to her surprise, it never came. Instead, Sybil only smiled.

"Of course I shall, Richard. You'd only be disappointed if I weren't."

* * *

**AN: The pillar box attacks Percival talks about here were part of a day of concerted suffragette action on 27th November 1912; the phrase 'skirted anarchist' is definitely not mine, but after fruitless Google searches, I still can't remember where I heard it/saw it written down. I have a feeling it was in connection with women defending themselves with hatpins against sexual harassment on trains/trams in the 19th C, but I can't say for certain. Forgive me?**


	10. Homecoming

"Edith, what time's your train tomorrow?" Richard asked casually over dinner. It was her last night in London, and Edith, whilst on tenterhooks to be back in Yorkshire, was also surprised to find she felt a faint twinge of regret that she would be leaving her family.

"A quarter past ten from King's Cross," she smiled, and felt her mother squeeze her elbow.

"I wish we had you for longer, darling," she sighed. "You still look so pale."

"Nonsense, Mama!" said Sybil definitely. "You look very well, Edith."

"Thank you, I'm sure," Edith replied, but there was no malice in her voice. Things had settled down somewhat with Sybil over the last few days; perhaps they had all been worrying too much, and this was just delayed adolescent pettiness.

"How lucky," Richard intervened. "I have a meeting at eleven o'clock - I'll go in early, and we can share the car."

"Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?" Mary asked, her nose wrinkling a little. Richard lifted her hand and kissed it.

"Perfectly. That's if Edith's agreeable?"

"It's very kind of you, Richard. Thank you."

* * *

"You didn't need to see me onto the platform, you know," Edith sighed. "I would have been perfectly safe in the Ladies' Waiting Room."

"_Would_ you?" Richard asked absently, checking his pocket watch against the big station clock on the platform. Edith's train was just pulling in, and he was almost spectral amidst the steam that was wreathing the crowd.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Edith asked, surprised. "I'm - I'm not ill any more, Richard." _Not physically, at least_.

"I wish I could be sure that that were the case." Richard looked at her searchingly. "Because you and I both know that you haven't had the influenza."

"Don't be ridiculous!" She gave a faint, nervous chuckle of laughter. "What else could it possibly have been?"

Richard shook his head slowly. "I don't appreciate being lied to, Edith."

His sister-in-law's spine was suddenly ramrod-straight as she drew herself up in indignation. "And _I_ don't appreciate being _accused _of lying!"

"Then don't tell untruths." He shrugged. "I'm not going to pry any further - I don't need you to confirm my suspicions…" He broke off and the harsh lines of his face softened considerably. "…But I wish I could be sure that you were all right, my dear."

Edith blinked up at him, swallowing away sudden tears. There was silence for a moment, and then her shoulders sank in defeat. "What gave me away?" she whispered quietly.

Richard lifted wry eyebrows. "Well… it was all very sudden, wasn't it? And you were very close to Michael Gregson and there have been… murmurings, shall we say?"

"You spied on him."

"Only after you came home. I asked around about your Sir Anthony Strallan too, but there was nothing apparently wrong with _him_. So it had to be Gregson."

"Will you tell Mary?" Edith asked. "Because she would lord it over me until Kingdom come, Richard, and - "

Her brother-in-law shook his head. "No. Mary and I are… more than aware of each other's faults. She doesn't need to know about this."

Edith exhaled noisily in relief. "Thank you. I - I'd prefer it if Mama didn't know, either."

"Very well. On _one_ condition."

"Oh? And - and what would that be?"

Richard's fingers tightened on her arm. "That if you are _ever_ in _any_ sort of trouble again, you will send for me, _immediately_."

"Richard - "

He shook her a little, not ungently. "_Immediately_, Edith. For God's sake," he sighed, exasperated, "I feel _responsible_ for you - for you and for Sybil."

"There isn't anything you could have done to prevent this, Richard. Michael… was my choice. And the - " She lowered her voice. "The m-miscarriage… nobody could have stopped that."

"Perhaps not. But you will, if you please, give this note to Sir Anthony when you return to Locksley." He pressed the small, pale blue envelope into her gloved hand. Edith stared stupidly at it for a moment, and then murmured, "What does it say?"

Richard gave her an old-fashioned look. "I presume a doctor was called? The last time I looked, they weren't free. I'd as soon pay your bills myself."

"I'll reimburse you," Edith promised. "Tell me how much it costs and - "

"I don't need repaying," he interrupted quietly. "But… you could write to Sybil more often. She's at an awkward age, and she'd confide more to you than to any of us at home, I think."

Impulsively, Edith reached up and kissed his cheek. "You're going soft, Richard Carlisle." She blinked back water in her eyes. "Carry on like that, and we'll start to think you care."

* * *

Edith had barely climbed out of the car before a body slammed into her with only slightly less force than a tonne of bricks might have, two long thin arms wrapped around her waist and squeezed tightly - and a familiar joyful voice cried, "Mrs Crawley! You're home!"

"Master Pip!" she laughed, half-indignantly. "Let me go! You're cutting off my circulation!"

"Don't care," he retorted, but his grip did lessen fractionally so that Edith could wriggle free and hook his arm through hers as they turned to go in. "Are you better?" he asked, and then without waiting for a reply, added, "I hope you are, because Papa's been muddling all the papers in the study again and he can't find anything. Oh, and Granny's come to visit and I told her how super you were and she can't wait to meet you and - "

"Pip?" Sir Anthony's absent-minded voice called from the study as they entered the hall. "Who are you - ?" His head appeared around the door and he caught sight of Edith.

"Mrs Crawley!" He negotiated the door at surprising speed and came to shake hands with her with what seemed to be genuine pleasure. "Welcome - welcome back!" As Pip hurried off, calling for his grandmother, Sir Anthony asked, "How are you?" A smile crossed his face. "You look… frightfully well. Better than I th- " He broke off, his smile becoming a little embarrassed.

"I feel it," Edith replied warmly, surprising herself by how honest an answer it was. The week at home had apparently done some good, and although she was still rather weary in the evenings, and aching in her heart still, she knew herself to be in much finer fettle than she had been when she had left. "I hope I haven't arrived at an awkward moment, sir - Master Pip says that Lady Strallan is here - "

"Not at all," he hastened to reassure her. "Here she comes now, in fact. Have you the strength for an introduction, do you think?"

It seemed there was not be an option - before Edith had done more than open her mouth, a sprightly lady of middling height, her blonde hair just going grey, appeared at the top of the stairs, along with Pip. She descended with quick grace and a smile for her son, who hastened to make the necessary introductions. "Mrs Crawley, my mother - Anne, Lady Strallan. Mama, Mrs Crawley, my secretary."

Edith managed a slight curtsey, before her hand was seized and shaken with firm warmth. "My dear, it's _lovely_ to meet you." With a twinkle in her eye, Lady Strallan confided, "Pip tells me you have quite saved Sir Anthony from drowning under paperwork."

Edith could feel herself going red. "Master Phillip is exaggerating, my lady. But… I hope I have been useful." Looking up, she caught Sir Anthony's eye, and there was something in his expression - something steady and reassuring and faintly admiring - that made her flush all the deeper.

"Well, Mrs Crawley, I shall look forward to getting better acquainted with you at dinner," smiled Lady Strallan. "Pip and I are just off for a walk."

As they departed, Edith looked half-anxiously at her employer. "I'm sure your mother would prefer it if I dined elsewhere this evening, sir…"

Sir Anthony opened the door to the study and almost unconsciously Edith passed before him into the room. "Absolutely not! My mother's overriding characteristic is her utterly brutal honesty. She always tells the absolute truth. And besides, Mrs Cox is pulling out all of the stops in honour of your homecoming, so let's just do as we're told this evening, hmm?"

Edith could feel a small laugh bubbling up inside her. "If you insist, sir."

"I _absolutely_ do." Turning away to his desk, he added, "My mother brought some documentation relating to my great-grandfather up from the London house with her - perhaps tomorrow we could sort it into the archive?"

* * *

As they left the dining room that evening, Edith thought she might burst, she was so full. 'Pulling out all the stops', in Mrs Cox's book, was apparently code for cooking anything and everything that Edith had expressed a liking for over the last month. "Goodness, what a feast!" Lady Strallan had exclaimed with delight as they had entered, she on her son's arm, Edith on Pip's.

"When I spoke to Mrs Cox about the menus," Sir Anthony explained half-apologetically, "she said that London cooks didn't know a thing about food, or about feeding young women. Mrs Crawley, I rather think she worries you've been starving."

The aroma of a hearty stew and fresh bannocks had met Edith's nose at that moment; her stomach growled faintly. "Looking at this, sir," Edith replied quietly as he pulled out her chair for her, "_I_ rather think that I have."


	11. On the Subject of Matrimony

"Well, Anthony, I can return to London with a clear conscience," his mother smiled, as she kissed his cheek. The car was outside, waiting to take her to Downton station, and thence to London.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he returned mildly.

"Only that I can see now that I am leaving you and Pip in _tremendously_ safe hands." Almost slyly, she glanced towards the closed study door, behind which Mrs Crawley was tackling the day's tasks with her usual industry. "She's a lovely young woman, Anthony."

"Why do I get the sense that you mean more than 'she is a very efficient secretary'?" her son sighed.

"It wouldn't be unheard of." His mother rested a gentle hand on his arm. "And she seems… fond of you both."

"Mama! Mrs Crawley is simply a very… very _kind_ person." Anthony's voice was firm and not a little irritated. "And I did not think you would believe you had raised the sort of man who would be making overtures of that nature towards his staff."

Nancy shook her head. "You are _so_ much like your father. So honourable, so _upstanding_." Her smile became wistful. "He wasn't built for solitude, either." Her fingers closed around his. "It isn't too late, you know. You could remarry, give Pip a mother again, have more children. Doesn't that sound better than rattling around this old house on your own, my darling?"

* * *

"I'm home!" Pip called at the study doorway.

Edith didn't for the moment look up. Instead, she raised a gently quelling finger. "Ten and six, plus five pounds, minus three pounds ten is…" She scribbled something in the ledger in front of her, looked up and she and Pip finished together, "Eleven pounds sixteen."

Edith smiled. "Top marks for arithmetic. Hello, my dear - you're home earlier than I was expecting." Standing up, she tugged the bell pull in the corner of the room and checked her watch. "Trying to break the land speed record, were we?"

She had returned from London to find that Pip had taken to bicycling to and from school - but it usually took him at least a _little_ longer than the hour and a quarter it had taken him this evening. Truth to tell, it worried Edith to distraction; what with all the motorcars on the road now (five, Sir Anthony said he had spotted, besides his own Rolls, the last time he was in Ripon!), every day it seemed she lived with some part of her heart in her mouth until the young scamp was back, safe and sound. Of course, she mentioned this to no one - least of all to Sir Anthony. He would not take it amiss, she did not think; he would most probably say something sweet and gentle and understanding and reassuring… but the thought of voicing this worry caused odd flutterings in her tummy and made her throat thick with tears.

She could not have said when Pip had begun to become so dear to her. Perhaps it was losing the child which had started it - but then, his mischievous ways and incessant curiosity had been endearing him to her long before that. Perhaps it did not matter, after all. Pip was a child without a mother and she -

Almost viciously, she stamped down on that thought, on its inevitable conclusion.

"Your tea, Mrs Crawley," smiled Mrs Cox from the doorway. "And Master Pip, too! Ten minutes earlier than yesterday." She set the heavy tea-tray and its two cups down on the desk. "You'll bicycle your legs off if you're not careful, young man."

Pip grinned, the image of his papa, and then frowned at the two cups on the desk. "Isn't Papa having tea with us?"

Edith and Mrs Cox exchanged glances, one anxious, the other tight-lipped and more disapproving than any good servant had a right to be. "No," Edith replied lightly. "Don't you remember, Master Pip? Sir Anthony is taking tea with Lady Fyfe today."

At this, heaving a large sigh, Mrs Cox left the room. Almost sulkily, Pip thumped down into his usual chair. Almost absently, Edith noted that he had skinned a knee. He scowled. "Who's _Lady Fyfe, _anyway?"

Edith returned to the desk and poured their tea. "A friend of his, from a long time ago."

"Why does he want to have tea with her?"

Edith suppressed a smile, turned and handed him his teacup. "I imagine that he enjoys her company."

"Doesn't he enjoy _our_ company?" Pip spluttered indignantly.

With a sigh, Edith settled back into her desk chair. "Of _course_, my dear. He enjoys… he enjoys your company _very_ much. But… Lady Fyfe is… different." _And how to explain that difference to an eleven year old? How to explain that widowed gentlemen sometimes formed romantic attachments, had dalliances with - with - _

Pip swallowed half his cup of tea in one gulp. Quietly, he asked, "Is he going to marry her?"

Edith blinked. Could that be it? Thinking back, she considered Sir Anthony's expression when he had asked her to make a note of the appointment in the calendar she had insisted they begin keeping. "I've tea with Lady Fyfe Tuesday next, Mrs Crawley. Make a note of it, would you?" The faint lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled. "Safer than relying on me to remember, I'm afraid." _Well,_ Edith considered, _that did not sound like a man intent on forming a new alliance. But… _

As Edith well knew, matters of the heart could advance with all the speed of an attacking army - and cause just as much damage. Brightly, she smiled at Pip. "I imagine he'll just be taking tea today, Pip." After a pause, she probed, gently, "Wouldn't it be a nice thing, though, if your papa _were_ to marry again?"

Pip shrugged, scuffing one school shoe against the other.

"One day," Edith added, almost absently, "you'll go off to university, or get married, and then who will be here to keep your papa company?"

Pip blinked up at her and selected a cucumber sandwich from the tray. "He has _you_." Shaking his head in the manner of an exasperated old man, Pip asked, "Why does he need to get _married_?"

Edith almost choked on her tea. When she had recovered, she managed, "I'm your father's secretary, Pip. That's very different to - to a wife."

"Why? You organise everything for him. Isn't that what wives do?"

"Well, I suppose so… but… there are… other things, too." _Things that it would most definitely be far too confusing, not to mention _dangerous,_ to think about in relation to her employer!_

"Like what?" Pip asked innocently.

"Like… companionship," Edith told him at last, her voice sounding strange and strangled to her own ears. "Confidences." She spread her hands wide. "Just… _other_… things." Swallowing, she asked, "Now, don't you have prep. to be getting on with?"

Pip frowned at her oddly. "Yes. Are you all right, Mrs Crawley? You've gone awfully red."

"I'm fine." That strangled, high-pitched voice again, not like her own at all. Her cheeks were burning. "Upstairs then, Master Pip. Strike while the iron's hot. The sooner you start, the sooner you'll finish. Spit spot."

Slowly, Pip rose and set his empty teacup on the tray. "If you're sure you're all right…"

Edith nodded and forced a smile. "Absolutely. I'll see you at dinner."

The door shut behind him, and with a muffled groan, Edith covered her face with her hands.

* * *

Ginny handed Anthony his teacup. "Now, you must tell me _all_ about your boy." She offered him a knowing smile. "Isn't that all that proud fathers want to talk about?"

Ruefully, Anthony returned the smile. "Perhaps. Well, he's eleven - which naturally means that he is… _constantly_ asking questions. He likes cricket and cars and chemistry - "

"How splendidly alliterative!" Ginny chuckled.

Anthony joined in her laughter and sipped at his tea. "He's very clever, and an utter scamp with it." Shaking his head, his smile became lop-sided. "And now I shall stop, before you begin to think me an awful old bore."

Ginny shook her head. "Oh, no need. You've been terribly restrained. I think… if I had been blessed with children, I should not have stopped talking about them from dawn until dusk."

Anthony's eyes softened in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She waved aside his concern with one elegant hand. "I daresay it's just as well." A slight twist to her lips, Ginny looked around her fashionably furnished drawing room. "This… has not been a terribly happy house - and children should be raised in happy homes, shouldn't they?"

"Wherever possible," Anthony agreed gravely. "I'm sorry about George."

They both knew that he was not talking about her late husband's death.

Ginny offered him the plate of sandwiches. "It was absolutely my own fault," she sighed. "After your engagement to Maude was announced, so _suddenly_…" She shot him a wry look. "You know I've always had a horrid temper, Anthony. George had been sniffing around me for months before that and I thought '_Well, a baronet is better than a baronet's _heir_ \- and won't that show Sir Anthony Strallan that I'm not jealous in the slightest?'_ Marry in haste, I suppose - and I certainly had time enough for repenting." Shaking herself, she chuckled. "And _now_ who's being the bore?"


	12. Accident

"…So I really think that we should - "

Anthony stopped and looked up from his desk, past the abandoned tea tray. Mrs Crawley stood at the window, cardigan clutched about her, watching the rain hammering against the panes, a relentless drumming noise that had accompanied their work for much of the afternoon. The sky was leaden, gusting to inky black on the horizon. They'd turned on the lights at least an hour ago, but Mrs Crawley had kept the curtains open, looking for any sign of Pip bicycling up the drive.

"So," Anthony pressed on, "I really think that we should hire a dancing bear - he'd be an excellent first footman."

"Mmm," she replied, not turning round.

Anthony felt a smile tugging his lips at her obvious distraction. "I can see it now - he'd look very elegant, fur all brushed, starched collar… of course, he might be a little _tall_ for a footman, but times _are_ changing."

"Mm- _pardon?_" _Now_ she turned around, a confused little frown creasing between her eyebrows momentarily. Then her face cleared and a faint smile graced her eyes. "You're teasing me, sir."

He lifted one elegant eyebrow. "Fair repayment for distraction while on duty, I think?" Mrs Crawley went a little pink about the cheekbones, tugging a little at the hem of her cardigan. His expression softening, Anthony asked, "Care to share what's on your mind?"

That unhappy little frown was back, he was sorry to see. Anthony was quickly realising that he hated to see Mrs Crawley unhappy or sad. Despite everything she had endured, the suffering that had been meted out to her, she was such a cheerful soul, so _bright_ and _lovely_ to have about the place, so quick and clever…

She sighed heavily, brushing away a loose golden curl that had slipped from her tightly pinned-up arrangement, and confessed, "I think Master Pip should have arrived home by now."

Anthony pulled out his pocket-watch and clicked open the exterior case, frowning down at the face for a moment. True enough, the lad was usually back by tea-time. Still… "He might have gone off with a chum. He might have stopped when the rain got too hard, found shelter somewhere along the way." He smiled lopsidedly at her. "He might very well have got himself into a scrape with a master and been kept behind for a thrashing." Mrs Crawley winced and Anthony rose and rested a hand gently on her shoulder. "It happens," he sighed.

"Well, perhaps it _shouldn't_!" she sniffed out angrily, and Anthony saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. Carefully, he removed his hand.

Mrs Crawley looked away. "Sorry, sir." She exhaled loudly. "This… just doesn't feel like Master Pip. I - I can't explain it, I know I'm - I'm overstepping the mark, but…"

"Not at all. I'll telephone Ripon Grammar," he offered quietly. "See what's what."

Edith returned to her seat at the desk. As Sir Anthony lifted the telephone, she gnawed a little absently at her thumb. "Hello, operator… Ripon Grammar School. Thank you."

There was a long silence. Edith shuffled uncomfortably in her chair and Sir Anthony shot her a brief, sympathetic look. "Ah, Holloway… Strallan here… Yes, that's right… Look, Phillip hasn't arrived home yet and we thought that he might perhaps have been kept behind…" Sir Anthony's expression darkened, and Edith felt the sudden, almost painful leap of fear in her belly and up along her breastbone. "I see… No, thank you for your help… Of course. Goodbye."

He set the receiver down heavily. "Pip left at the usual time, with the other boys. Does he - have a regular chum whom he bicycles with, do you know?" Her employer looked suddenly shamefaced. "I know… I haven't been here for tea as often as I used to be, just recently." Tea with Virginia had become a comfortable, regular ritual over the last couple of weeks. It was… pleasant, to talk with someone who remembered his youth. To spend an hour or so a week talking with someone who did not rely on him for her daily bread. No matter how kind or engaging or clever Mrs Crawley, for example, was, he still would have felt uncomfortable discussing Maude, or the Gervases, or his adorably exasperating sister. One did not burden one's secretary with all the details and troubles of one's personal life. And, in his turn, he felt that he was in Virginia's debt, for the grace and kindness she had shown when he had married Maude. She, too, he sensed, needed someone to talk to, and he was happy to be that person. Now, however, he could not help the sense of shame that was rising inside him.

Mrs Crawley did not meet his eyes. She shook her head. "I don't think so. Sometimes Andrew Hamley, but he's in hospital at the moment - appendicitis." She shot him a look full of distress and surged up from her seat as if she could not bear to remain still a single moment longer. "Sir, I'm going out to look for him."

Casting a look outside at the weather, Anthony protested, "It's raining cats and dogs out there!"

"Then I shall get wet," she said, matter-of-factly. "I cannot sit here and _wait_ \- I shall go mad! Sir - "

"I quite agree," he reassured her quietly. "But we shall go _together_, and in the Rolls."

* * *

The rain showed no sign of letting up as they drove out of Locksley's gates. Sir Anthony had put the hood up on the car, but that offered no real protection from the biting December chill. Edith shivered inside her winter coat, and not just from cold. To distract her from the horrid thoughts which were filling her head, she focused her eyes on the road ahead of them, illuminated by the broad yellow beam of the car's headlights, and on operating the lever that worked the car's windscreen wipers.

"Mrs Crawley," Sir Anthony said, breaking the silence. "I am so - "

But whatever he was about to say was cut off by Edith's sudden exclamation. The car's headlights had illuminated a green bicycle frame, twisted as if it had been hit by something _much_ faster and larger. And next to it, lying perfectly still on his back, one arm flung out… was a tow-headed little body.

Edith was out of the car and running almost before Sir Anthony had pulled the car to a halt. She fell to her knees by his head, uncaring of the muddy puddles across the road, and reached out to brush a flop of soaked hair away from Pip's bruised forehead. A shadow fell across the light from the car's headlights and Sir Anthony knelt down on his son's other side, fingers pressed desperately to his neck, searching for a pulse. _Please, God. Please, let him be - let him not be -_

Mrs Crawley bent her ear to Pip's mouth for a moment and then lifted it. "He's - he's breathing, I think," she gasped, rain and tears running down her cheeks together. "My God, who could have just _left_ him - "

Her employer's free hand, the one that was not resting against Pip's cheek, reached out and squeezed her wrist in comfort. "We must get him to Clarkson - the cottage hospital," he decided and released her to slide his arms under Pip's limp little body and lift him up. Edith risked a glance at the road where Pip had been lying, half-expecting to see blood and bone, but there was nothing there. Turning, she quickly hurried ahead, opening the car's back door and sliding in. "Pass him to me," she ordered briskly as Anthony reached her. "I'll hold him steady."

He looked at her for a long moment, assessing, and then she gave a short, reassuring nod. _Let me share this with you. Let me help. _Carefully, leaning half into the car, he laid Pip's head and shoulders down over her lap. Edith stretched out her other arm over Pip's scraped knees to hold him firmly on the seat, and Sir Anthony hurried around to the driver's seat.

* * *

The journey to the cottage hospital was agonising. Pip was still unconscious, made no noise, either of pain or awareness. Sir Anthony, in front of her, kept his eyes fixed rigidly on the road, and Edith was left to fret. Doubtless, she should be feeling the cold and the damp more than she was, but just now, it seemed to be the least important thing in the world. With shaking fingers, she stroked Pip's forehead, and prayed.

Clarkson was stunned when they burst in, soaking wet and carrying a still unconscious Pip, but to his credit, he reacted swiftly. Anthony and Edith were ushered out into the corridor while Pip was bustled into a bed and examined.

Anthony had sunk into a chair, his head buried in his hands. Dimly, beyond the hellish images in his head, he could hear the repetitive _click-click_ of boot heels as Mrs Crawley paced up and down the corridor. At length, he looked up as she turned to march back towards him.

Her hair had half fallen out of its strictly arranged coiffure, her skirts were dark with rain water and mud and God only knew what else, and her eyes were red against the chilled pallor of her face. Mutely, he stood and held out a hand to her, and she came to him. He squeezed her icy fingertips gently. "You're frozen, my dear. Sit down, why don't you?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but all that came out was a fragile, choked little sob that made tears prick in Anthony's own eyes. And then she was tottering forwards, as if she could no longer hold herself up, and Anthony, bone-tired and numb, found himself reaching out for her, sweeping her into an embrace, one hand at the impossibly _small_ small of her back, the other cradling her skull as her hands clutched at the front of his coat. Mrs Crawley turned her head, pressing one cheek against his sternum, and Anthony found himself tilting his own chin down to rest it on the top of her head as his arms tightened about her. The poor girl was shaking - trembling so violently, with cold or with shock or with both - and Anthony closed his eyes and let his own tears seep through beneath his eyelashes and run freely down his cheeks until he was shaking quite as badly as Mrs Crawley.

For a long time, they remained like that, holding each other up. Anthony thought he might have collapsed by now, without her tiny, cold hands pressed against his chest to keep him steady.

"Sir Anthony?" Dr Clarkson's voice at the end of the corridor broke them apart. "Master Pip is waking up."


	13. Pip

Someone was holding Pip's hand.

That was the first thing he was aware of, as he swam up from the blackness that had swallowed him.

His head was thumping and it seemed that every little bit of him ached, just like it had that time last year when he had fallen out of one of the trees in the orchard at home and broken his arm. But he didn't think he had been climbing any trees this time. He had been zooming along on his bicycle - _no hands, obviously_ \- and then there had been the roar of an engine and a screech like nails down a blackboard and a tremendous crash and then… nothing.

With a faint groan, he blinked open his eyes. On one side, Papa leant forwards, chin rested on his two clasped hands, as if he had been praying, eyes red like he'd been crying. He'd only seen Papa cry once, at Mama's funeral. On the other side of the bed was Mrs Crawley. _She_ was the one holding his hand, her fingers soft and warm and soothing over his sore, scraped knuckles. _Her_ eyes were red too, he noticed, and she was making that face that she always did when she was cross, pursing her lips and biting the inside of her cheek, and letting the very tips of her ears turn pink.

She must be _frightfully_ angry at him for worrying her, and Papa, and everyone else, he supposed.

Of course, he hadn't been scolded _yet_, but perhaps she was just saving it for when he was stronger. That would be just like Mrs Crawley. She was too much of a good sport to kick a chap when he was down. But the _waiting_ for the scolding was going to be horrid - Pip had a feeling that she would be as excellent at it as Papa was, which meant that it was going to be a _thoroughly_ unpleasant experience for him. And that was even before _Papa_ had said his piece!

"Pip," his father breathed. "Thank _God._" And Pip knew he must be worried, because Papa was very strict about bad language, _especially_ blasphemy.

"Sorry," he croaked sheepishly into the pillow.

Mrs Crawley's eyes widened suddenly. "Pip, _darling_ boy," she began - and she sounded absolutely _furious_ now, which was very odd given her words - "you have _nothing_ to be sorry for!"

Her shaking fingers brushed away the curls from the bandage around his head before she continued. "I'm not cross with you, my dear. Nor is your Papa. We're - _I'm_ \- only cross with the _awful_ person who hit you and drove away." She let out a shaky breath. "Sergeant Oakes is going to come and speak with you, when you're feeling a bit stronger, so that we can try to find out who it was."

"Oh. Right." The relief of knowing he was not going to be what his father called 'confined to barracks' for the rest of his natural life swamped over Pip and he yawned widely. "I'm jolly tired, Mrs Crawley."

She offered him that familiar, faintly amused expression and leant over the bed to kiss his forehead. She smelt like roses. "Then you should go back to sleep, my dear."

"Will you be here when I wake up?" Pip heard himself mumble, not caring for the moment that he sounded like a baby of five, rather than a young man of nearly twelve.

He felt Papa's hand brush over his curls, reassuring and placating all at once. "Mrs Crawley's exhausted, old chap - "

But her kind voice intervened. "Of course I will, Master Pip."

"Oh," he said faintly. "Jolly good. Jolly go…"

* * *

As Pip drifted off, Sir Anthony gently touched Edith's wrist. "You don't have to stay, you know." A tired smile graced his face. "You learn, as a parent… your children won't stop adoring you just because you tell them 'no' occasionally."

She looked at him a little oddly. "I know, sir. But… I want to stay with him. I can sleep just as well in a chair, I promise."

"He isn't in any danger. I'll be here to look after him." That was true enough. A mild concussion, a fractured tibia, and assorted cuts and bruises seemed to be the extent of Pip's injuries, for which they could only thank the Almighty. In short, it was a miracle.

Of course, that hadn't stopped the rage from welling up in Anthony when he had first laid eyes on his boy, bandaged and pale in the hospital bed. It _certainly_ hadn't stopped Mrs Crawley from clenching her fists into two white balls, so tight that her nails must have been digging into her palms. Really, she had looked quite fierce - a lioness whose cub had been attacked. Anthony could have believed her capable of almost anything in that moment.

She was giving him a rather terrifying look at the moment, in fact - firm and set. "Well, two sets of eyes are better than one." Her lips twitched and she added, belatedly, "Sir."

He began to chuckle, a cracked, tired sound. "So they are, Mrs Crawley. So they are."

* * *

When Pip woke again, it was dark outside. A single lamp illuminated the small room he'd been put in to, just enough light to see Papa and Mrs Crawley by. They were no longer opposite each other - Papa had moved his own chair so that he was seated next to her and he sat asleep, his head tipped back against the wall, tweed jacket rolled up and shoved beneath his neck as a sort of makeshift pillow. Mrs Crawley had slid half-sideways in her own chair, Papa's coat spread over her like a blanket, her head resting on Papa's chest, one hand fisted in his jumper. She'd discarded her shoes, and Pip could just see her black-stockinged toes poking out from underneath the coat's hem.

She looked somehow _younger_ in her sleep. Pip didn't think he'd ever actually asked how old she was. Not as old as Papa, obviously, but a fair bit older than him. Other than that, she was just… grown-up, he supposed.

And she and Papa… they looked… _good_ together, like he and Mama had used to, before she had died. Having Mrs Crawley around, these last few months, had almost been like having a mother again, Pip realised. Maybe, for Papa, it had been like having a wife again. He bet Papa hadn't ever fallen asleep with Lady Fyfe.

"So put _that_ in your pipe and smoke it," he mumbled, to no one in particular, and went back to sleep.


	14. Recovering

The first thing Edith became aware of was the crick in her neck. The next things were the soft wool of a jumper beneath her cheek, the cold linoleum floor beneath her stockinged toes, and the light breaths of her employer gusting through her hair.

Blinking her sore eyes open, Edith lifted her head from Sir Anthony's chest and blushed to herself. Goodness, she hoped none of Dr Clarkson's nurses - nor the good doctor himself - had been in in the night and seen her and Sir Anthony curled up together like that. Why, it might have given people quite the wrong impression - and given… _certain recent events_ to which Dr Clarkson had been privy, that was quite the last thing in the world that Edith wished to do.

They'd both just been exhausted, that was all, and there had been nowhere to lie down properly, so after Sir Anthony had watched Edith shuffle and shift about in her chair for a while, trying to find a comfortable position for her head, it had seemed the most sensible thing in the world for him to shift his chair a little closer to hers, and sweep his coat over both of them as a sort of blanket, and place himself in just the right position for his chest to make a pillow for her.

The man himself was still asleep, his face filled with the lassitude of true exhaustion - neither of them had fallen asleep until past midnight, she was sure. The shadow of grey-blonde stubble sat on his jaw and his mouth hung open a little.

Inexplicably, it ached to look at him for too long.

Edith averted her eyes, found her boots and shoved her feet into them, tired fingers fumbling clumsily at her laces. "Mrs Crawley?" his tired voice croaked and she sat up straight and offered him a faint smile.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning." Sir Anthony looked across at Pip's peaceful sleeping form. "Thank you for…" He broke off and brushed a tired hand across his eyes. "Lord only knows how long it would have taken me to - Without you, he might not have - "

Edith interrupted quickly. "I'm only glad that he's safe, and on the mend, sir."

Sir Anthony stood and advanced and extended his hand to her. Almost hesitantly, Edith took it and he bowed his head solemnly over it. "Still," he murmured softly, "I am in your debt."

"No, sir. Call it… a repayment, if you must - for all the - the very many kindnesses you have shown me." Gently, she squeezed his fingers and he released her.

"Papa?" Pip mumbled from the bed. "Is it time for breakfast?"

The adults exchanged fondly exasperated looks. "I'll fetch Dr Clarkson," Mrs Crawley murmured and swept out, efficient as ever despite her tousled hair and creased blouse.

* * *

After Clarkson had examined Pip once more, and reassured his anxious visitors that he was out of the woods, Sir Anthony suggested driving Mrs Crawley back to Locksley. "I'd prefer someone to be there, to see that things are… ticking along," he explained, sensing that his secretary was about to protest. More gently, he added, "And you'll be no use to me whatsoever if you're dead on your feet."

Mrs Crawley sighed and would not meet his eyes, but the slight nod of her head seemed to signal acquiescence. "I shall telephone if there's any further news," he reassured her

"Take the rest of the morning off," Sir Anthony ordered as they drove back along the lanes. "There's nothing on my desk so urgent that it can't wait until late afternoon at the earliest."

"I'll be quite all right," she replied in that perfectly cheerful, and yet perfectly firm tone of voice she had. "I might look over those diaries Lady Strallan sent up from Town - start filing them away in the archive."

Sir Anthony frowned and shook his head, but made no further comment as they drew to a halt outside Locksley. "Well, I shall go and wash and change, and… pop my head around the door before I go back."

"Yes, sir. I may do the same." To tell the truth, her head felt foggy and she was queasy from lack of sleep and food. A splash of cold water on her face upstairs helped with the fogginess, and as she descended, the scent of freshly fried bacon seemed to suggest that Mrs Cox was planning on remedying her hunger before too much longer.

Sir Anthony awaited her in the hall, hair neatly brushed and last night's clothes exchanged for a fresh suit under his driving coat. "If you _insist_ on being productive today," he told Edith as she reached him, "I've left a list on your desk. I shall be home for dinner, I expect."

"Very good, sir. Give Master Pip my regards."

"Of course."

In her study, she lifted the aforementioned list, scanned it, and then gasped half-indignantly, turning to scowl through the rain-streaked windows at the retreating Rolls. It was very simple:

_To-do:_

_1\. Drink cup of tea_

_2\. Eat square meal_

_3\. Go to bed_

_A. S_

* * *

"Can't I get out of bed today?" He heard Pip's voice, disgruntled and wide awake, as he reached his son's half-open bedroom door. He was about to enter and find out who Pip was talking to when Mrs Crawley's figure moved into view, cutting off his line of sight to Pip. He should have known. The young rapscallion had been moved back to Locksley the evening before, to continue his recuperation at home, and, to everyone's relief, was rapidly returning to normal: that was, mischievous and lively and most certainly giving cheek.

"Of course you may," Anthony heard Mrs Crawley reply crisply as she straightened his pillows, "if you want to go crashing to the floor in a heap." Teasingly, she tweaked his nose. "Three more days' rest, the doctor said, before he would even _think_ of letting you up."

"It's so _boring_!" Pip complained.

Edith chuckled, a rich, warm sound. "Well, then, that will teach you to go around getting knocked off bicycles, Master Pip." Anthony half-smiled; she only ever called the lad 'Master Pip' in fun these days - to tease him, to make him laugh.

"Has Sergeant Oakes found the car that hit me yet?"

"No, but when he does, I shall want several stern words with the driver."

"Shall you box their ears for them?" Pip sounded thoroughly excited at the prospect.

"Between you and me, Pip, I should _dearly_ like to." Really, she sounded perfectly serious, Anthony thought. His secretary could be a positive fury, at least in defence of those she liked. He felt himself smiling again. _A good quality._ "Just as I shall box _yours, _young man, if I catch you trying to disobey Dr Clarkson's orders again."

Pip gave her a sheepish grin. "Right-o, Mrs C."

"Anyway, if you're that bored, perhaps I can bring up your school books later. I just _know_ how much you'll enjoy the Latin prep. Mr Jenkins told me about when he telephoned."

"Mrs Crawley - !" Pip protested.

"Now, now, Master Pip," she replied, pretending primness, "we must keep that mind of yours sharp, mustn't we?"

Once again, Anthony was struck by how natural they were with each other. Mrs Crawley was _wonderful_ with him - half older sister, half mother, with a dash of boarding school matron thrown in for good measure - and Pip responded to her sweetness and her teasing, exaggerated threats as if she had been there all his life.

In some ways, Anthony thought, it felt as if she _had_. He'd… got quite accustomed to her himself. To her neat way of arranging his papers and books, to that soft smile in the morning, to her "Good morning, sir," and "Right away, sir," to her… her indefatigable _steadiness_. Over the last few days, when the rest of them had all been at sixes and sevens, she had seemed to be everywhere at once - his Rock of Gibraltar, his strong right hand. If her firmness and practicality were ever taken away from him, if she ever decided to go away… well, he was not ashamed to admit that he did not know what he would do without her.

It was time to make his presence known. Pushing open the bedroom door, he entered. "Good morning, my boy. Good morning, Mrs Crawley. I hope Master Pip isn't making a nuisance of himself?"


	15. Edith and Virginia

"Lady Fyfe, sir," Stewart announced at the library door. "Are you at home?"

Anthony looked up from his paperwork. "Yes, Stewart - please, show her in."

He rose from his chair as Virginia swept through the open door, already tugging off her gloves. "Hello, Ginny."

"Anthony." Her bare hand, chilly despite her gloves, came up to cup his cheek. "Are you all right? Is _Phillip_ all right?"

He nodded, covering her hand with his own. "Better than he has any right to be, after an accident like that." He frowned. "I'm sorry I haven't been to visit."

Virginia shot him a quelling look. "Darling, don't be ridiculous. Your son was in _hospital_ \- he needed you far more than I do."

"I haven't been looking after him as well as I ought, just recently," Anthony confessed softly, bowing his head. "Maude… would have thought me such a failure, for letting this happen."

"Nonsense." Virginia's expression softened. "Anthony, no one who knows you could doubt how much you care for that boy. Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault." She sighed. "_You're_ the one who needs someone to look after him, if you ask me."

"Ginny, my dear… you're a brick." As he bent his head to kiss her cheek, Virginia began to turn her face towards him and at the same time, he heard the library door open. "Oh!" exclaimed Mrs Crawley's voice and Anthony stepped hastily back. His secretary was bright red with embarrassment and groping for the door behind her. "Forgive me for intruding, sir - I'll come back later - "

"Not at all." _Goodness, there must be something he could say to relieve the tension in the room!_

Somewhat to his surprise, it was Virginia who came to his rescue, sliding her hand proprietorially into the crook of his elbow. "Darling - won't you introduce me?"

"Yes. Of - of course," he stammered. "Virginia - my secretary, Mrs Edith Crawley. Mrs Crawley - Virginia, Lady Fyfe, an - old friend."

"My lady." Edith made a passable curtsey and Lady Fyfe offered a faint smile. "Mrs Crawley. Sir Anthony speaks so very highly of your accomplishments."

"He does me a great honour, my lady." She turned to Sir Anthony, still faintly red about the cheekbones, and lifted a pile of papers from the desk. "Will you excuse me, sir? I ought to return these to the archive - I'll ask Mrs Cox to send tea up to you and Lady Fyfe."

"Thank you." Anthony attempted a smile as Mrs Crawley retreated towards the door, but she did not meet his eyes.

"Sir. My lady," she murmured and the door shut quietly behind her.

"Oh, Anthony - ought I to be jealous?" Virginia teased. "Efficient _and_ pretty?"

Anthony sighed and gestured her to a seat on the sofa. "I can't say that I've ever given it much thought."

"You're actually being serious. How sweet." She looked around her. "This room reminds me so much of the library at Strallan House, you know. I remember when Mama and I used to be invited to take tea with your mother." She frowned. "She always used to favour the library, for some reason. We used to think it was frightfully odd."

"She and my father used this as their working room, when he was alive. They liked the library at the London house for… similar reasons."

"Of course - I remember, he used to involve her in a lot of the running of the estate, didn't he?"

"Mmm." His lips quirked up into a dry smile. "She still likes to… throw in her two penn'orth when she's here."

Virginia chuckled. "I'm _quite_ sure she does. She never used to hide her feelings about me, after all."

Anthony shook his head. "My mother hardly approves of anyone. She certainly didn't approve of Maude either - although, admittedly, for different reasons." He looked up as the door opened behind her. "Ah, here comes tea. Thank you, Mrs Cox."

* * *

"Mrs Crawley?" The knock came gently on the door.

"Oh! Hello, sir." Mrs Crawley looked up only briefly from her work, her cheeks still tinged red with embarrassment. "Can I help you with something?"

"No, no, I - I simply wished to - to clarify - " He coughed a little, shuffling his feet with some considerable sheepishness. "Earlier, when you came down to the library, I fear that you may have… misread the situation and I would hate for you to think that - "

Mrs Crawley kept her eyes trained on her paperwork, the model of an industrious, dutiful employee. "I don't believe that you pay me to think, sir. And you certainly don't pay me to have opinions on your private affairs. Rather the opposite, I would have said."

Above her, she heard Sir Anthony let out a long sigh of dismay. "Mrs Crawley, _nothing_ untoward was going on." More quietly, in a tone that was almost desperate, he added, "Please believe me."

"Very well." She looked up and gave him a tiny smile. "I do believe you, sir." The smile faded. "Sir… might I… offer some advice?"

Anthony dug a hand into his trouser pocket. "Ought I to sit down?"

A little flustered, Mrs Crawley nodded. He sat opposite her and waited for her to continue. _Lord, she couldn't be older than twenty-five and she already looked graver than most women twice her age!_ Carefully, she folded her hands in front of her before speaking. "If you plan to… to pursue Lady Fyfe, sir, then… a little more discretion might be advisable. For her sake, if not your own." She gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders. "It won't enamour her to the servants in the case of - of future… well, if you should ever wish to…" She looked to him, the uncertainty of youth momentarily crossing her face as she hunted for the right words.

"If I should ever wish to ask her to be my wife?" Anthony helped gently and she nodded gratefully.

"… If - if they thought that there had been - _indiscretions_, beforehand," Mrs Crawley finished. "This time, it was only me. What if next time it were Master Pip, or Mrs Dale?" Reaching out, she fiddled with the pencil on the desk between them. "I don't mean to be rude, sir, but…"

"…But I needed to be warned," Sir Anthony finished, offering her a somewhat tired smile. "No. You are perfectly correct, as ever. I - I shall be more circumspect in future." He stood. "Well, I shan't disturb you further, Mrs Crawley." At the door, he paused and turned back. "Thank you, for caring enough to consider reminding me."

* * *

"What is it?" Anthony asked, without lifting his eyes from his paperwork. He could feel, for the fourth or fifth time that morning, his secretary's eyes burning a hole into the side of his head. And just when he thought they'd got over all that embarrassment from Virginia's visit last week, too! Yesterday evening, they'd even been able to look at each other without blushing.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

Now he did look up, over the tops of his reading glasses, to fix her with an old-fashioned look. "You've been on edge all morning. Get it over with, if you please, so that we can continue with our day."

Mrs Crawley avoided his eye, biting her lower lip somewhat anxiously. "It's… rather awkward, sir…"

"All the more reason, then." His rather sharp expression softened. "My dear girl, I don't bite."

"No, sir." She stood and came over to his desk, holding out two identical pieces of cream card, both stamped with the crest of the Earl of Grantham. "It's just… my cousin Matthew and his wife have invited you to their Christmas party at the Abbey next week and - and I've been invited as well."

"Yes." When Mrs Crawley did not say anything further, Anthony pressed, "Go on, Mrs Crawley. You said that it was something awkward. I'm afraid I don't quite see…"

"Well, I mean - !" She blushed. "Sir… I suppose what I mean is that - would you mind awfully if I accepted? Of course, if you'd like to go, I'll give Lavinia my excuses and - "

"Why on Earth can't we _both_ attend?" Sir Anthony interrupted, half-indignantly.

Mrs Crawley gaped at him as if he had suddenly sprouted two heads. "It wouldn't be _proper_, sir. It would be frightfully embarrassing for you, to have people saying, "'I say, Strallan, isn't that your secretary over there?'" She shook her head and added, somewhat more quietly, "I couldn't expose you to that."

"Well, let them ask me," Sir Anthony shrugged. "I'll just say, 'Yes - I only employ the very best sort of person at Locksley.'" He turned back to his paperwork. "You have little enough of a social life as it is. Don't think I don't notice when you hole yourself away in the archive reading on your days off."

Mrs Crawley frowned. "I could say the same for you, sir. Dinner with Sir Hugh and Lady Gervas a couple of times a month, tea with Lady Fyfe - that's _hardly_ \- " Suddenly she broke off, flushing a deep red. "Forgive me, sir. That… was rather impertinent."

"Yes, it was," her employer agreed, but he was smiling. "Then let us just agree that neither of us leaves this house often enough, and as a result, we're going to treat ourselves and attend this party. Will you write and accept, for both of us?"

"Very well, sir." Back at her desk, biting on her lower lip, Edith murmured, "Thank you."


	16. Confidences

"Oh!" Edith exclaimed involuntarily as she reached the top of the stairs. "What on _Earth_ is going on here?"

"Christmas!" grinned Pip enthusiastically. He was still on crutches, but had been happily hopping around for days now. At this precise moment, he was shaking snow out of his hair and shivering. Behind him, his father was helping to manoeuvre a large fir tree into the hall.

Sir Anthony twisted his head to look up at her, his grin the mirror image of Pip's. As Edith stepped down into the hall, Mrs Dale bustled by bearing a large box of decorations. "This one for the library, I think, Pip. What do you say, Mrs Crawley?"

"'_This one'?_" Edith echoed, half-dismayed. "How many trees _are_ there?"

"Oh, only three," Sir Anthony called airily over his shoulder. "One for the hall, one for the library, one for the servants' hall." As he spoke, he stepped backwards, the trunk of the tree firmly in his grasp; as he moved, Stewart came into view, holding the business end of the fire. "We used to have four, when Pip was still in the nursery, but we've been cutting back, the last few years."

Pip hopped ahead into the library; hesitantly, Edith followed him, watching anxiously as Sir Anthony and Stewart started to set the tree upright in the pot Mrs Dale had put aside for it. "Would it be taking advantage to ask you to help us decorate it?" Sir Anthony asked, as he brushed snow from the front of his coat and began to remove his gloves. His cheeks were flushed from cold and boyish excitement and, looking at him, Edith felt that same ache in her middle that she had felt at the hospital.

"Please, Mrs Crawley, _please_!" Pip echoed.

"It'd be a kindness if you would, Mrs Crawley," Mrs Dale confided under her breath as Pip and Sir Anthony began to eagerly unload the decorations onto the desk. "I've the servants' hall tree to decorate, and left to their own devices, the gentlemen always seem to break _something_ or other. It'd be a weight off my mind to know _someone_ with a grain of sense was in charge."

Edith hid a smile. "Then I'd be happy to help."

"Hooray!" Pip cried triumphantly.

Sir Anthony gave her a warm smile. "I'll fetch the step-ladder."

* * *

"Robin on top," Edith smiled decisively, "and then we can move on to the hall tree, I think." Hands on hips, she stepped back to admire their handiwork.

Beside her, Pip leant on his crutches. "It's the best tree we've _ever_ done!" he agreed enthusiastically.

Fondly, Edith squeezed his shoulder. "We make an _excellent_ team, my dear." Conspiratorially, she added, "And your papa was quite helpful too."

Behind her, she heard Sir Anthony's warm chuckle. "Well, _someone_ had to be the brains of the outfit," he pointed out.

"Yes - Mrs Crawley!" Pip crowed.

Sir Anthony gasped in mock indignation. "Cheeky young imp!"

Edith - already halfway up the step-ladder - joined in their collective laughter. Stretching, she settled the fragile glass robin - complete with real feathery tail - at the top of the tree, and removed her hands with a sigh of satisfaction.

The ladder trembled beneath her feet. Edith swayed on the top step, threw her arms out in vain to try to steady herself - and slipped.

She felt a swooping, sickening feeling in her belly, and a painful jolt of fright went right through her, tingling in all her extremities. She was falling, falling - and then two strong arms caught a tight hold of her from behind, two large hands splaying out around her waist, warm even through dress and corset and chemise. "_Oof!_" Sir Anthony exhaled, and then, "I say, steady the buffs!" Very carefully, he set her on her feet. "Are you all right?"

He released her, just enough that she could turn and face him. Carefully, he removed his hands from her and Edith gave a shaky laugh and wobbled a little on her feet. His hands came back again immediately, at her elbows this time, to guide her into a chair. This done, he crouched down at her feet. Over his shoulder, he told Pip, "Run and ask Mrs Cox for a cup of sweet tea, old chap, would you?"

With an anxious nod, Pip hopped away.

"Are you all right?" Sir Anthony repeated, returning his attention back to Edith. "Not faint or anything?"

Mutely, Edith shook her head. "N-no," she managed. "It was just… the surprise of it. The ladder shook and I - I slipped, I suppose."

"Forgive me - it has a bit of a habit of doing that. Threw _me_ last year, right on to the hall floor. I should have warned you." He looked up anxiously into her face, and Edith was struck by how absurd it felt to be looking _down_ at him. "But you aren't hurt at all?"

"No," she whispered, a little shyly. "You caught me in time. No damage done."

Slowly, he rose to his feet again. "Good. Jolly good."

It took Edith a moment to join him on her feet again. Partly, this was because slipping from the ladder had rather shaken her. But mainly it was because she could still feel Sir Anthony's warm hands on her ribs, the strong bulk of him at her back, taking her weight, the press of his fingers at her elbows, the anxious look in his eye as he had inquired after her well-being. And what that meant, she was all too painfully aware.

* * *

"Mama _loved_ Christmas-time," Phillip volunteered from the other side of the dining table as he ladled roast potatoes onto his plate.

"Did she?" Edith smiled. "What did she like best?"

"The decorations and the parties." Gravy was next - clearly the excitement of the afternoon had had a positive effect on Pip's already considerable appetite. "Papa doesn't really like them, but Mama always used to wheedle him into having one."

Edith closed her eyes briefly in amusement. "I should like to see anyone persuade your papa to do anything he was _really_ set against."

"Mama could do it," Pip insisted. "Couldn't she, Papa?" Grinning, he confided to Edith, "Not even _Granny_ can do that."

After Pip had gone to bed, Edith found herself and Sir Anthony drifting back to the library, as they sometimes did in the evenings. "That's… the most I've heard him talk about his mother in two years," he commented, sitting down before the fire.

"I'm sorry, sir." He shot her a quizzical look and Edith elaborated, "I didn't mean to encourage him if - "

"Not at all. I'm - I'm _glad_, that he can remember her with… with happiness now, rather than grief." He shook his head ruefully. "It means there's hope that one day, I'll be able to do the same." He looked up, apparently startled by his own admission, and brushed a tired hand across his face. "Forgive me. That was… a horrid thing to burden you with."

Mutely, Mrs Crawley shook her head, staring into the fire's dying embers. "No. At least grief is better than anger."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"When my father died…" Edith began slowly, "I was _furious_ with him. Perhaps one day I'll forgive him enough to mourn him."

"He died suddenly?"

"Very suddenly." Frankly, she looked up at him. "He gambled away our money - our _security_ \- and then he killed himself."

"Oh, _Edith_…"

She thought that that was the first time he had ever used her Christian name. As if to push away his sympathy, she shrugged her shoulders. "We - my godfather and I - managed to persuade everyone that it was a heart attack. So… while my sisters and my mother were able to cry and grieve and - and remember him as he was… every time I think of him, all I can remember is the _coward_ who died rather than stay and protect us." She swallowed and gave a shaky little laugh. "Do you know, that's the first time I've said that out loud? Not - not about him killing himself, but… the rest of it. So now you know all _my_ horrid little secrets."

Hesitantly, he leant forwards and squeezed the hands she had folded in her lap. "There's nothing horrid in that, my dear."

"I told Michael, you know. Mr Gregson. The night that we first…" She flushed and fell silent.

His lip curled contemptuously and Edith turned away, unable to bear knowing that that look was directed at her. "I know," she whispered. "I was _stupid_ and naive and - "

"_No,_" Sir Anthony interrupted harshly. "_He's_ the one who should be ashamed, for thinking that he had the right to go around seducing vulnerable women. You told him that and his first thought was to - to - _press his attentions on you_?"

"I - It wasn't - I was more than willing - "

"Yes, and I'm sure _he_ was very _concerned_ about you and made all the right noises." His voice was tight with anger. "I know cads like that - I went to school with them, I went to university with them, I've sat in dining rooms and libraries with them for most of my adult life - and trust me, he would have said or done whatever he needed to say or do to get what he wanted from you. _You did nothing wrong, _do you understand?" He shook his head. "_Absolutely nothing wrong_."

Warmth flooded through her, like stepping inside after a long walk in bad weather. The way he spoke, the way he was looking at her and leaning forwards so earnestly… it felt like he was _on her side_.

* * *

**AN: Re. the robin on the top of the library tree - we've always put a robin ornament (in fact, the one described here) on the top of our family Christmas tree, for as long as I can remember. Much more interesting than the traditional angel or star. Anyone else out there with interesting 'top of the tree' decorations?**


	17. The Tenants' Tea

The Locksley Tenants' and Farmers' Tea always (apparently) took place on the final Sunday before Christmas, which this year fell on a Wednesday. It seemed everyone who paid rents to Sir Anthony, or who had the vaguest connection with the house and its master, was in attendance, and the house's entertaining rooms seemed packed to the rafters.

Edith occupied herself in manning the tea table in the drawing room, passing cups and saucers, buttering bread, and ensuring there was enough of Mrs Cox's excellent, mouthwatering Christmas cake to go around. Master Pip was with his father, and seeming much older and more serious than usual, as he greeted his future tenants and offered good wishes for the Christmas season and the coming new year. Edith was proud of him and knew, from the gentle squeeze she saw Sir Anthony give his shoulder after old Mr Whitley had limped away for more tea, that his father felt similarly.

"Oh, Mrs Crawley - thank goodness!" Anne Nicholls, the wife of Sir Anthony's estate manager, with her eldest little boy clinging to her skirts, and another in her arms, bustled over, an expression of relief on her face. "I must just take Billy to the lavatory - would you mind - ?" And without further ceremony, she plumped her youngest down in Edith's arms and turned for the nearest convenience.

A ball of lead dropped suddenly into Edith's stomach. It was terribly easy to avoid small children in the usual course of her daily duties. She certainly hadn't held one since… _the incident._ She had been able to ignore the whole concept of infancy. And now a wriggling, lively specimen had been (quite literally) dumped into her lap - gurgling and babbling and reaching up with plump, sticky fingers to touch her cheek and tug at her necklace.

Her arms felt numb. _Everything_ felt numb, except her eyes, which were starting to prickle hotly. Looking up, her gaze locked with Sir Anthony's across the room. His face fell, mirroring to her surprise what she supposed to be her own stricken expression, and then he nodded his head politely to Reverend Bentley, bade him farewell and strode directly, decisively across the room to her, abandoning Pip to continue the conversation with the parish priest alone.

He did not speak, did not give her any opportunity of refusal or demurral - he simply reached out. Before Edith knew what he was going to do, he had carefully detached the infant's fingers from her jewellery, and scooped him up and away, relieving Edith suddenly of her burden.

Their eyes met again, briefly, Sir Anthony gave her a reassuring nod, and Edith dipped a brief, absurd curtsey. "Excuse me, sir. I must just…"

She did not even bother to finish the sentence; turning on her heels, she fled.

Outside in the rose garden - covered with snow at this time of year - and seated on a bench far enough away from the main house that she would not be noticed, Edith dissolved.

She had been doing _so well_, she had thought. Coping admirably. And all it had taken to destroy all of that hard-won composure was one stupid, squalling baby in her arms for less than five minutes.

Because really, the loss of her own child had meant the loss of so very many other things, hadn't it?

She had thought that leaving Michael would be enough to close the book on that particular horrid chapter of her life, but it wouldn't, would it?

If - if she ever met a man she thought she could love, a man she might consider marrying, then the whole thing would have to be dragged up again, wouldn't it? She would have to tell the whole sorry, sordid tale again, and hope that the man she had chosen would keep his silence, even if he could not accept her as his wife.

Edith chuckled bitterly. And who _would_, after all?

So the baby who had been lost would be the only one she would ever carry. She would never fall in love, never marry, never bear children who were not sources of shame and reminders of disgrace.

"Mrs Crawley?"

Sir Anthony's quiet voice made her look up. He held her coat folded tidily over one arm, his other hand tucked firmly into his own coat pocket, his breath frosting in the air between them. Gently, he settled the coat around her shoulders and took a seat on the other end of the bench. "Mrs Nicholls has retaken possession of young Master Edward," he offered.

Edith dried her eyes with her handkerchief. "Good. I - I'm sorry - "

Sir Anthony lifted a hand to forestall her apologies. "Not at all." Almost conversationally, he added, "My wife miscarried two children, you know."

Edith blinked up silently at him for a moment. She had wondered at the time about that calm, cool, kind competence he had shown - no hint whatsoever of that peculiarly male brand of squeamishness that tended to exhibit itself in cases of feminine delicacy. Now she supposed she had all the answers she might ever have needed. "I'm… sorry. Wh-when?"

He looked down at their feet. "One… about a year after Pip was born. And… another when he was five."

"And how long did it take for it to stop - stop hurting like this?" Edith found herself whispering.

"Afterwards, a little one crying was enough to turn my belly inside out." His mouth quirked in a bitter expression that she had never seen, nor associated with him, before. "But _I_ didn't have the horror of - of having them inside me while…" Sir Anthony stopped, shrugging. "It's not comparable in the least."

"Was - was that how she died?"

He shook his head. "No." Heavily, he elaborated, "Diphtheria, when Pip was nine. She and - and the daughter she was carrying at the time. Frances." At Edith's shocked gasp, he turned his head to look seriously at her. "I don't tell you any of this to - to belittle your own loss," he reassured her hastily. "Only to show you that… grief fades, eventually. Life pulls us back."

They sat in silence for a long moment and then Edith shook herself with some alarm. "Oh - your guests! I'm keeping you from them - "

Sir Anthony gave her a reassuring smile. "Pip's holding the fort. Don't fret."

Edith stood up decisively. "I'll be all right, sir. You should go back inside now."

He looked at her, somewhat doubtfully. "Mrs Crawley - " He stopped and sighed. "It's very cold out here, my dear. Won't you come back inside with me?"

She nodded tightly. "In a minute. Truly, I'm all right. I just… needed a moment to… to recover my composure."

His hand was warm on her shoulder. "Very well. I'll… ask Mrs Dale to set aside a cup of tea and a slice of cake for you, shall I?"

She choked out a slightly damp laugh. "That would be lovely, sir. Thank you."


	18. A Christmas Party - Part One

The twenty-third of December dawned bright and cold and clear, with a thick fresh layer of snow on the ground. Edith went out early, to post her Christmas cards at the box in the lane, and returned red-cheeked and frozen and cheerful after the exercise.

As she stamped the excess snow from her boots in the hall and stripped off her gloves and hat, Mrs Dale appeared from the direction of the breakfast room. "Oh, Mrs Crawley, I'm glad I've caught you - is there anything you need me to do before tomorrow evening?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs Dale?" Edith blinked. Was there something to do with the household that she had forgotten? Was Sir Anthony hosting something or other?

"Well, for the party," Mrs Dale elaborated. At Edith's continued silence, she pressed, "A dress you'd like me to press for you, or - ?"

"_Oh_!" Realisation struck. Edith hadn't even allowed herself to think about the party at Downton for the last few days - every time her mind had touched upon the idea of it, her tummy had clenched painfully with anxiety. "Oh, I see." She bit her lip. "I… I - I don't quite know… I mean, I shouldn't like to… but there will be so many fine ladies there that I'm not entirely sure… "

" - what you should wear, my dear?" Mrs Dale finished for her kindly.

Edith flashed her a smile which was full of gratitude. "_Yes_."

Mrs Dale tucked her arm into the crook of Edith's elbow and squeezed. "Come along upstairs then, my lamb - I've a spare half an hour. We'll look through your things and find something, together. And you'll let me do your hair for you, of course."

"Oh, I couldn't take up so much of your time - "

"Nonsense." Mrs Dale was already steering her towards the stairs. "We can't have you over there looking less than your very best, not when half the county's going to be in that drawing room!"

"Oh, _don't_!" Edith begged. "I'm nervous enough as it is!"

"Nothing to be nervous of! His lordship's your cousin, isn't he? He wouldn't have invited you if he thought you'd disgrace him, now, would he?" And _that_, it seemed, was _that_.

* * *

The dress was the last pretty thing she had had made before Papa had died - cream silk underskirt, a wide band of bright blue velvet for a bodice, with a dark net overdress, cut high at the front and low at the back and embroidered with a riot of dusky pink and red flowers around the hem. She couldn't say now why she had kept it, why she had carried it with her, to Mary and Richard's house, to Michael's, back to Mary and Richard's, and now here. But it was formal enough for an Earl's Christmas party, even if she didn't feel the same enthusiasm for it that Mrs Dale seemed to.

"Lovely," Mrs Dale said, in tones of decided approval, as they looked at it, laid out over the bed. "And with those black satiny shoes, and your cream evening gloves, you'll be the match of any titled lady there." There was a determined glint in her eye, as she fetched said accessories, that left Edith in very little doubt as to precisely _which_ titled lady it was of whom Mrs Dale was thinking. "Now, what jewellery will you wear?"

"I don't really have any," Edith admitted. "Only my locket."

"Simple and elegant," Mrs Dale approved. "Now… your hair." Critically, she looked at Edith's rather severely pinned back arrangement. "You've a lovely curl to your hair already, my dear. We could put it in rags overnight - it'd take to that lovely, I'll be bound - and then just have a few ringlets to frame your face, pin the rest up. Nothing too drastic, just… a little less work, a little more play, hmm?"

At this, Edith couldn't help smiling. "If you like, Mrs Dale."

* * *

In the end, Mrs Dale called in reinforcements in the form of Molly. Together, they pinned and laced and buckled and buttoned until Mrs Dale pronounced Edith fit to be seen. "Thank you - both of you," Edith murmured, as she looked at herself in the mirror.

Mrs Dale squeezed her hand momentarily; Molly bobbed a shy curtsey and whispered, "Have a lovely evening, ma'am."

Anthony was already waiting in the hall when Mrs Crawley appeared on the landing. He had been relieved to find that she was not already waiting for him, when Stewart had finally allowed him to descend, some fifteen minutes ago. Really, his man had seemed even more exacting than usual tonight, for some inexplicable reason. He turned at the sound of light footsteps on the stairs and just managed to stop his mouth from falling open.

A copper-haired _goddess_ was gliding down his stairs, bright-eyed and shyly smiling. Her skin glowed, soft and creamy, against the bright blue velvet and there was… _far more of_ _her_ on display than he had ever seen before. Sternly, he ordered his eyes upwards to her face.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed as she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Mrs Crawley!"

Edith flushed positively crimson at the astonishment in his voice. Sir Anthony himself, of course, looked resplendent in white tie. Faced with him, Edith felt silly and childish - a little girl desperately trying to appear grown-up. "I - I know. Mrs Dale said I should… but I look ridiculous - I may just go and ch- "

She was surprised by his hand, gentle against her gloved wrist, halting her flight. "Absolutely _not_," he insisted quietly. "Mrs Dale, as ever, was… _completely_ correct. You look… quite as pretty as a picture."

"Th-thank you, sir," she whispered, eyes on her feet.

Collecting himself, Anthony extended his arm. "Shall we, then, my dear?"

* * *

"And what do you think you're doing, young man?" Mrs Dale asked sternly. Pip, in pyjamas and dressing gown and slippers, jumped and turned from where he had been peering over the bannisters at the departing backs of his father and Mrs Crawley.

"Nothing!" he protested. Then, as if he could not stop himself, he added, "Mrs Crawley looks jolly pretty, doesn't she?" A slight blush mantled his cheeks. "Not that she doesn't always - "

"I'd stop there if I were you, Master Pip," Mr Stewart intervened, approaching from the direction of Papa's dressing room. "Otherwise, you'll need a ladder to get out of that hole you're digging yourself." Easily, he slung an arm around him and exchanged a questioning glance with Mrs Dale. "Come on then, my lad. Better view from your Papa's bedroom window."

All three of them watched in silence until the Rolls had disappeared up the drive and quite vanished from view. Then Mrs Dale exhaled as if in great satisfaction and the spell was broken.

"Right, Master Pip. Off to bed with you now, or you'll be fit for nothing in the morning."

As Pip trudged sleepily off to his bed, Stewart cast another thoughtful look out of the window. "The lad's right, though. She _did_ look a picture." He frowned. "Not _scheming_ are you, Mrs Dale?"

"I've no _earthly_ idea what you're talking about, Mr Stewart," Mrs Dale retorted primly. "If the master chooses to see what's right under his nose, then that's really his own business, isn't it?"

"Oh, is it?" Stewart replied dryly. "And what about Lady Fyfe? Not to be impertinent, but I rather think _she'd_ like to be the one under his nose. If you catch my drift."

"Well, Mr Stewart," said Mrs Dale grimly, "if wishes were horses, then beggars'd ride."


	19. A Christmas Party - Part Two

**AN: Forgot to mention at the end of last chapter, but Edith's dress is this one (from 1915 - please excuse the fact that we're three years away from that at the moment. It was pretty enough that all sense of strict historical accuracy momentarily deserted me): post/73451730005/evening-dress-the-hallwyl-costume-collection**

* * *

"Mama!" Mrs Crawley exclaimed as they entered Downton's hall. She released Anthony's arm and hurried to embrace a taller, older, dark-haired woman. "Oh, I had no _idea_ \- !"

Mrs Crawley - the _older_ Mrs Crawley - laughed. "Oh, well, Isobel wrote to me and we thought it would be a lovely surprise for you. We're here for the whole holiday - I didn't think you'd be able to get more time off to come all the way down to London to see us."

Edith's eyes prickled with glad tears as she embraced her mother again. "Mama, _thank you_." Releasing her, she recalled Sir Anthony, hovering to the side, a small smile playing across his face. "Oh, Mama, this is Sir Anthony Strallan, my employer. Sir Anthony, my mother, Cora Crawley."

Sir Anthony shook hands, most civilly. "Mrs Crawley, it's a delight to meet you."

"How do you do, Sir Anthony?" Her mama's left hand reached out, searching for Edith's; when she had grasped it, she gave it a gentle squeeze. "I must thank you for sending Edith home to us when she was so ill last month - it was very thoughtful of you."

"Not at all." Sir Anthony bowed his head sheepishly. "Your daughter has been… a most valuable addition to my household. I'm glad I could assist in her recovery."

Three more figures clustered around them - a man and two women. "Edith," the man greeted Mrs Crawley, and bent to kiss her cheek.

Edith returned her brother-in-law's kiss and - with notably less warmth - her older sister's. "Hello, Richard. Mary. How was your journey?"

"I never want to see a train again," Mary said decisively.

"Oh, dear." Anthony knew _that_ expression well enough - the slight tightening of her lips, the suppressed exhalation that signified frustration in Mrs Crawley. Instead of replying, however, she turned to the youngest of the party, a girl of around eighteen, and hugged her around the shoulders. "Hello, Sybil darling. Mary, Richard, Sybil - Sir Anthony Strallan, my employer. Sir, my sisters and brother-in-law - Sybil Crawley, and Sir Richard and Lady Carlisle."

Richard extended his hand and shook Sir Anthony's firmly. "Good to put a face to the name, Sir Anthony."

"Likewise, Sir Richard." Politely, he inclined his head. "Ladies."

"Ah, Sir Anthony!" They all turned as one as the Earl of Grantham approached, his customary cheerful expression on his face. "Cousin Cora, hello." He kissed her cheek, and squeezed hands with Edith and Sybil, before turning to the Carlisles.

"Lord Grantham." Sir Richard was the first to speak. "It's been rather a long time."

"Yes, Sir Richard. Almost a year, isn't it?" Matthew's expression softened as he turned to Mary. "My dear Mary. Hello."

"Hello, Matthew." Mary looked around as if with an effort. "Where's Lavinia?"

"She should be down in a moment." Matthew looked momentarily bashful. "She… wasn't feeling quite the thing earlier."

"Oh?" Richard asked. "She isn't ill, I hope?"

"No." He blushed. "I… well, Dr Clarkson tells us that it's quite normal for a woman… _in her condition_ to be a little… queasy."

"Oh!" Sybil squealed excitedly and flung her arms around her surprised cousin. "Oh, Matthew - _congratulations_!"

"Yes, congratulations!" Cora agreed. "Mary, Edith, Richard - isn't that perfectly _lovely_ news?"

"Yes," whispered Mary, lips barely moving. "Perfectly lovely."

Cora hooked one arm through Sybil's, the other through Mary's. "Darlings, let's find a quiet corner with Edith and catch up on all her news. It's so lovely to have you _all_ together again."

The Earl's eyes seemed fixed on the backs of his retreating cousins; somewhat mutely, he murmured, "Good evening, gentlemen," and melted back into the crowd.

"Has Edith been well, since she returned?" Sir Richard asked Anthony.

"Doesn't she write to her mother?" he frowned.

"Oh, she writes." Sir Richard raised his eyebrows in a knowing expression. "But you may have noticed that she isn't exactly forthcoming about her feelings, when she doesn't want to be."

Sir Anthony seemed to smile, but he hid it by glancing down at their shoes. "Well, now that you come to mention it…" He looked back up at Richard, his expression becoming more serious. "Miss Crawley is my employee and living under my protection and I hope that you will rely on me to ensure that she is safe and well-cared for. I would never allow her to come to harm, Sir Richard - my word as a gentleman."

Richard nodded. "Good. Thank you, Sir Anthony." He offered a dry smirk. "You may have noticed that Edith's sisters are… rather high-minded. Caring for three of them single-handed is sometimes… rather a trial."

* * *

"I say, Mary… I'm sorry if the news just… came out like that, earlier." Matthew held her very correctly for the waltz they were currently dancing, and his voice was low enough that, close as they were, no one else would have been able to hear him.

"Not at all." His cousin forced a faint smile. "It must be fairly recent news, anyway. You didn't mention it when we saw each other last."

"Yes," Matthew admitted. "Clarkson visited the day after I got back. Last Tuesday."

"Well… congratulations." Mary glanced over his shoulder, to where the Countess was dancing with Sir Hugh Gervas, no sign whatsoever that she was in 'an interesting condition.' "I must catch Lavinia afterwards and… give her my best wishes."

Matthew seemed momentarily to hold her closer, tighter, more warmly. "You know, Mary, you can be _frightfully_ decent when you choose to be."

* * *

Sir Anthony drained his glass of champagne, eyes still tracking the crown of coppery hair he could see across the room. Really, Mrs Crawley was quite the social butterfly. He was sure that she must have danced with half the young men in the room by now, and it was only just half past ten. His lordship had started it off, asking for her hand after he had danced with both of her sisters, and after that, she had barely had time to sit down.

It wasn't, he supposed, surprising at all. She was terribly pretty. And had lovely smiles, and good conversation… Really, the perfect dance partner.

And he was stood here, like a spare one at a wedding, too much of a coward to go over and ask her himself.

It would be very easy. It wasn't as if it were the first time he'd asked a woman to dance, after all. And he knew Mrs Crawley well enough now, surely. _"I don't suppose you'd allow me the pleasure of the next dance?"_ \- that was all he had to say.

Anthony set his glass aside on a convenient table, and began to make his way across the room, eyes still fixed on her glorious cloud of hair.

Ten feet away, the Earl of Grantham and another man blocked his view.

* * *

"Edith!"

"Hello, Matthew." Edith turned, still a little out of breath from her last dance, and full of smiles. "Happy Christmas."

"Yes, happy Christmas! I don't think you've met Mr Pelham - my new estate manager?" Matthew gestured to the brown-haired, slightly sheepish chap standing next to him.

"No," Edith smiled, as Mr Pelham added, "I'm quite sure I should have remembered."

Matthew offered Edith a small wink, completely unseen by Mr Pelham; Edith returned it with a somewhat severe look of her own. "Oh, well - Herbert Pelham, may I introduce Miss Edith Crawley, my cousin?"

"Delighted, Miss Crawley."

"Likewise, Mr Pelham."

Quietly, Matthew excused himself. Hesitantly, Mr Pelham asked, "I say - may I have this dance? Or are you absolutely exhausted already?"

He had a rather nice voice, Edith noted. Earnest and quiet. "Why not?" she replied.

"The older chap you came in with - another Crawley cousin?" Mr Pelham asked as they danced.

"Oh, no. My employer - Sir Anthony Strallan. He owns Locksley Hall - you know, the lovely Georgian house just over the hill from here?" Edith replied. "I'm his secretary."

"And he didn't mind you coming tonight?" Mr Pelham sounded awfully surprised, and Edith felt strangely as if she ought to defend Sir Anthony.

"No - he practically insisted on it," she reassured him. "He's been… very kind to me."

Mr Pelham gave her a broad, jolly smile. "Well, after this dance, I think we should both drink a toast to our _terribly_ liberal employers!"

Edith laughed at that and agreed, and then asked, "How long have you been working for my cousin Matthew?"

"Oh, about half a year now. I was at a bit of a loose end after I came out of the army and… there's some land in my family that I might be called on to look after, eventually, so… this seemed like good practice. What about you?"

"Only since September." Her voice softened. "But… it seems like much longer. Sometimes, I feel as if I have been there for ever."

"No… no plans to leave, then?" Mr Pelham asked quietly as the music came to an end.

"Not just now, no," Edith murmured as they applauded the quartet of musicians.

"Oh." Mr Pelham offered her his arm. "Well… jolly good."

* * *

"Hello, Anthony." Virginia's voice was faint in his ears; Anthony's attention was too firmly fixed on Mrs Crawley and the young chap with whom she'd just finished dancing. He could feel himself half-scowling, but didn't have the will to stop himself. "Mmm. Hello," he managed.

"Ah," Virginia sighed, following the direction of Anthony's gaze. "And they say that lightning doesn't strike twice."

That drew him out of his brown study. He turned his head slightly and offered Virginia an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, m'dear?'

She shook her head, a sad smile playing across her pretty face. "Nothing. Do you know, I really thought that we might… make a go of it, this time?"

"I don't understand."

Virginia nodded over his shoulder. "You haven't taken your eyes off her all evening."

Anthony winced. "I'm simply… showing concern for her well-being. She lives under my roof, under my protection - I feel responsible for - "

Virginia held up a hand. "It's all right. You don't have to try to make excuses. She really _is_ extraordinarily pretty." A little grudgingly, she added, "And _very_ sweet too."

Anthony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. In the space of about two minutes, she'd made him feel lower than a snake's belly. "I seem to have spent a lot of our acquaintance apologising to you, Virginia, my dear."

She squeezed his arm. "Yes. You have. It doesn't mean that we can't still be friends, though, my dear. I _can_ be sensible, when I try, and you were always my friend, long before you were anything more."

"I don't deserve your friendship, Ginny."


	20. Reflections

By the time they left Downton Abbey, at just a quarter to midnight, the snow had set in again. Gallantly, Sir Anthony held his umbrella over her hair as they stepped out to the Rolls, taking her arm with his free hand and tucking her into his side to shield her from the worst of the weather. At the car, he solicitously held the passenger door open for her and shut it again when she had sat down and arranged her trailing skirt around her ankles.

"That was… a lovely evening, sir," Edith smiled as her employer set off carefully down Downton's long drive. "I really can't thank you enough."

"Fiddlesticks," he replied, in his kind way. "I'd have been a monster to forbid it - and I'm not _that_, I hope!"

"Not at all, sir." At a sudden thought, she suppressed a small giggle. "Although 'the ogre of Locksley Hall' does sound frightfully gothic!"

Sir Anthony shared in her laughter. "Indeed it does! You must tell Pip that one in the morning, Mrs Crawley - he shall find it invaluable to have something new to mutter at me the next time I need to scold him."

"You hardly _ever_ scold him, sir!"

He flashed her a comically lop-sided grin. "Perhaps that's where I'm going wrong. Well, the Earl and Countess still have _that_ joy to come." Then, realising just what he had said, and seeing perhaps the brief flicker of distress in Edith's eyes, his face fell. "I'm sorry, my dear, that was awfully crass, I - "

"It doesn't matter," Edith interrupted, taking a deep breath. "I - I can't go around for the rest of my life bursting into tears every time someone mentions b-babies, now, can I?"

"No," Sir Anthony agreed carefully, "but there's no need to keep that upper lip _quite_ so stiff, you know. Not with me, anyway." He gave her hand a kind squeeze over the obstacle of the gear-stick. "You were terribly brave."

Edith shrugged. She didn't want to tell him about the two glasses of champagne she'd downed in quick succession after the news, or about the way she'd felt she had to keep dancing for the whole rest of the evening afterwards, to keep her mind off it all. Let him think her brave, just for this evening, rather than the coward she really was.

Thankfully, he turned the subject, remarking as they turned in to Hall Lane, "There was something odd, earlier - with your sister and his lordship."

"Oh. Yes." Edith avoided his eye. "He and Mary were… close, once. When they were young."

"Ah." That single syllable was full of understanding. "But they didn't marry?"

"No." Edith sighed. "Matthew did ask, once, but… Mary… has always had an eye to the main chance, as mercenary as that sounds, and, well, Matthew was just the younger son then. Not quite top-drawer enough for her, if you know what I mean."

"Of course. I'd forgotten." Sir Anthony frowned faintly. "Some sort of railway accident, wasn't it?"

"Mmm." Even now, it was faintly sad to think of it. "Matthew's father and older brother were travelling to see friends. The train derailed, a little way outside Shrewsbury. Such a terrible _waste_. Just over five years ago, now." She shrugged. "Mary had been married to Richard for a month by the time Matthew became the Earl."

Sir Anthony raised his eyebrows. "And… Sir Richard knows about this?"

"I think he does." Edith frowned. "It isn't that Mary doesn't _love_ him - she _does_, oddly enough - but…" She trailed off, unsure of how to finish.

Sir Anthony smiled, a little sadly, as he drew the car to a halt outside Locksley. "We just never quite forget the first people to… steal our hearts, I suppose."

An inexplicable sadness came into Mrs Crawley's eyes. "No," she agreed briefly, her voice surprisingly hard. "I suppose we don't."

As they stepped into Locksley's hall, they heard the clocks chiming midnight. Gallantly, Sir Anthony lifted the hand Edith had tucked into his elbow as they had once more shared his umbrella, kissed her fingertips, and gave her a faint, lop-sided smile.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs Crawley."

* * *

Had Virginia been born a man, she had often quietly reflected, she would undoubtedly have made an excellent politician. She was clever and there was a streak of manipulativeness and deceit that ran through her, which would have shamed even the most snake-like Member of Parliament. From childhood, she had been training herself to use those wiles which Nature had bestowed upon her to get what she wanted, and - barring two occasions - she had _always_ succeeded.

She'd been terribly clever tonight, she thought, smiling with satisfaction at her recollection of the evening's events. Her grandpapa on her mother's side had been a rather famous general, and when Virginia and her brothers had been quite small children, they had enjoyed listening to him talk about tactics and strategy. _Sometimes,_ he had said once, _to win the war first requires one to lose one or two minor battles._

Such was the case here. Yes, Anthony had undoubtedly had his head turned by Mrs Crawley - Virginia was fair enough to admit that that striking head of hair, and clever efficiency and pert smiles were probably enough to attract an awful lot of men - but that did not mean that anything more serious was likely to occur. For one thing, from what Anthony had mentioned about her and what she had observed herself, the girl seemed positively skittish. Doubtless, if darling Anthony - in his sweet, _clumsy_ way - ever managed to pluck up the courage to make advances, Mrs Crawley would run away like a frightened little mouse.

Really, all Virginia had to do was wait, and offer a sympathetic ear, and pick up the pieces when the inevitable shattering happened.

After all, she hadn't endured twelve and a half miserable years with George Fyfe (that living embodiment of most of the deadly sins), only to let Anthony Strallan walk away from her now that he was in her sights again. _Certainly_ not to let him walk away from her into the arms of a chit of a girl whose only real redeeming feature was her distant connection to the Earl of Grantham!

Anthony had always been her one weakness, she reflected, as her lady's maid brushed out her hair. Ever since her seventeen year old self had first laid eyes on him, she had loved him and longed for him. But it had not been enough. She had been weaker, then, willing to let him slip away from her, into Maude's oh-so-_welcoming_ arms. So she had taken George Fyfe - partly to make Anthony jealous, partly because her new husband would make her rich and secure. A stupid decision, but she had made the best of it.

Virginia had paid her dues. And now it was time to collect her reward.

* * *

**AN: The railway accident outside Shrewsbury in 1907 which killed Matthew's father and brother is one that happened in real life; on 15****th**** October 1907, an overnight sleeper train derailed just outside Shrewsbury station, killing 18 people (including the driver) and wounding 33 more.**


	21. Christmas Day - Part One

When Edith descended the next morning, at the rather late hour (for her, at least) of half past nine, it was to find Sir Anthony staring out of the open front door. With a shiver - for it had snowed hard in the night, and still was, and a cold wind was blowing through the door - Edith came up to his side. He turned and looked at her, a somewhat crestfallen expression on his face.

"Good morning, my dear. It's coming down thick and fast out there, I'm afraid. Quite pointless to attempt the car. You'd be all right up until Grantham village, I suspect, but beyond that... it always gets completely blocked up, after heavy snow." He frowned sympathetically down at her. "I'm terribly sorry - your first Christmas away from your family…"

The corners of her mouth turned down unhappily. She had been meant to return to the Abbey for the Christmas festivities today - the Dowager Countess had been most insistent on that point - and now that there was no prospect of it, Edith realised how much she had been looking forward to it. Christmas Day wouldn't be the same, she reflected, without Mama encouraging them to play silly, childish parlour games, or Mary being standoffish, or Sybil's four o'clock outburst, when the excitement and enforced socialisation of the day had finally got to her. "Oh, it's quite all right," she managed bravely. "I'm sure Mary and I would only have ended up tearing each others' throats out anyway."

With a final sigh, Sir Anthony shut the door and turned for the breakfast room. "You must join us all for Christmas dinner, and for the party," he consoled her. Sir Hugh and Lady Gervas were joining them later, as well as Lady Fyfe, and a few of Sir Anthony's other local friends. Luckily, everyone was coming from the other direction, along the better maintained and more frequently travelled roads between here and Ripon. Lady Strallan had sailed for America the week before on the _Mauretania_ to spend Christmas in New York with her daughter and son-in-law. "You had me _last_ year, Pip," Edith had heard her tell her grandson, the last time she had visited. "And your Aunt Diana can get horridly jealous when she chooses."

If Sir Anthony's mother _had_ been present, Edith reflected wryly, she might perhaps have been persuaded to accept. Lady Strallan was very kind and very clever, and Edith had liked her immensely. As it was, the prospect of a day spent among her employer's friends, with only Sir Anthony and Pip for bolstering, was less than appealing. "Oh, I think I'll just have a tray in my room - "

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "On _Christmas Day_?"

"Really, sir," she insisted, as he pulled out a chair for her at the breakfast table. "I'll be perfectly content."

"But _I_ will not." His voice was soft and serious and Edith felt a flush creeping up the back of her neck as he helped her to tuck the chair back under the table. "Please, do come."

Edith looked away, under cover of spreading her napkin across her lap. "I don't think your guests will approve of your inviting me, sir."

"Well, just between us, Mrs Crawley, there are a great many things that some of my guests do of which I _decidedly_ do not approve." His voice was beginning to sound rather annoyed. "I should be _honoured_ if you would join us for dinner, _and_ for the party - and I shan't be taking no for an answer."

Briefly, Edith closed her eyes. A tray in her room alone did sound frightfully dull… Hesitantly, she offered him a smile. "Well, in that case, it seems I have no choice but to accept. Thank you, sir."

After breakfast, Edith returned upstairs to change. She had intended to go to Downton in comfortable clothes - a green blouse and dark skirt that she liked, given that today was to be a strictly familial affair - but now that her plans had changed, she felt that a slightly more festive outfit was required. A day dress of dark blue velvet with a folded back lilac collar - again, a vestige of her old life - seemed much more suitable. At least she would not disgrace herself.

Descending the stairs again, she heard an odd noise - a sort of chugging, as of a train - and frowned. The door to the library was ajar, and from within she heard Sir Anthony ask, "What on Earth - ?"

"That's a _tractor!_" exclaimed Pip excitedly as Edith entered the room. "Mrs Crawley, come and look!"

It took Edith only a single glance out of the window for her to recognise the tractor's driver. "Oh, Lord - it's _Mr Pelham_!" she gasped, and hurried from the room. By the time she had reached the hall and had opened the door, Mr Pelham had clambered down from the tractor and was standing grinning at her on the doorstep.

"What on _Earth_ is all this?" she asked, echoing her employer's question from a moment ago.

"Well, your mother and sisters were terribly disappointed that the car wouldn't get you to Downton in all this snow, so the Earl and I put our heads together, and we thought… well, there's more than one way to skin a cat." He gave her a sweeping bow. "So… m'lady… your chariot awaits."

Edith couldn't help laughing. "You and my cousin are both thoroughly ridiculous - " Her voice softened. "And thoroughly, _thoroughly_ sweet. Let me just fetch a coat and hat."

Inside the hall, Sir Anthony met her with a shy, crooked grin. "So it seems you shall go to the ball, after all."

Edith smiled at him a little sadly. "Yes, it seems I shall." She bit her lip. "I - I can hardly refuse, now that Mr Pelham has been so kind as to come all this way to collect me, in such filthy weather. I - I _am_ sorry."

"Nonsense! Of course you can't refuse - and it will be lovely for you to spend the day with - with people who care about you."

"Yes." They stood there for a moment, in silence, and then Edith sighed. "I oughtn't to keep him waiting, I suppose. I shan't be back _too_ late, I shouldn't think."

"Well, don't hurry back on our account. We shall leave the door unbolted for you - lock up when you get back?"

"Of course, sir. Thank you. And happy Christmas!"

* * *

"Oh," Hugh Gervas frowned, looking around the half-full drawing room, "isn't your pretty little secretary joining us, Anthony?"

"Don't be a damned boor, Hugh," Anthony replied, with more sharpness in his voice than might have been there under normal circumstances. "I'd have thought that fifteen years married to Claudia would have taught you to speak about ladies with a touch more respect than your average fourteen year old manages!"

Hugh lifted his eyebrows as his friend fell silent. "Sorry, old man. Didn't mean to cause offence."

Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. "It… doesn't matter."

"No, no." Hugh clapped an apologetic hand on his shoulder. "If I'd realised it was like that… then I wouldn't have said a word."

"Like what?" Anthony frowned confused.

"Well…" Hugh gave a wry grin, "if you're… sweet on the girl - and I wouldn't blame you if you were - then I shall keep my lechery to myself."

Irritated, Anthony fired back, "Do I have to be sweet on her, not to want to hear you talk about her as if she were - were some sort of - ?"

"Some sort of _what_, Anthony?"

"I don't know!" his friend exploded in an undertone.

"Ah. Awfully eloquent." Apropos of nothing, Hugh asked, "Got any family, apart from Grantham and his women?"

"What?" Anthony sighed. "Oh, yes. A mother, two sisters, a brother-in-law. He takes an interest."

Hugh nodded, apparently satisfied. "Good." He grimaced and broke off, lowering his voice. "Then… just _be sensible,_ old man. And… be prepared to take responsibility for the consequences if you…" Hugh inclined his head somewhat suggestively. "… If you _can't be._ You understand what I'm saying?"

"Good God, Hugh!" Anthony's eyes were wide. "Surely you've been my friend for long enough now that you know I would _never_ \- "

Hugh lifted his eyebrows. "Anthony. I was the best man at your wedding, for God's sake - "

"That - Maude was - was _different_, and we never - " Anthony broke off. "And I would never - _never_ compromise someone whose wages I pay. It would be - disgusting and - and - "

Gently, Hugh rested a calming hand on his elbow. "All right, old man." He shrugged. "In any case, we're probably fretting about nothing. Grantham's agent seemed frightfully keen on her last night. How many dances did he get in the end?"

"Three," Anthony bit out. Sullenly, he added, "He came to drive her over to the Abbey today. On a tractor."

Hugh laughed suddenly. "Ha! Good on the lad! God, do you remember being young and spontaneous like that, Anthony?"

His friend stared moodily into the bottom of his glass of sherry. "Not particularly, no."

"Good Lord, you've really fallen for her, haven't you?" Hugh sounded positively astonished. "I'm sorry, old chap." He exhaled. "And here was me thinking that you were taking up again with Ginny. Claudia always says I've no powers of observation whatsoever."

"And you don't, my darling," Claudia intervened fondly, reaching their corner spot. Hugh lifted her hand and kissed it. "Now, Anthony, come along, you're neglecting your other guests. You can gossip with my clown of a husband later."


	22. Christmas Day - Part Two

**AN: Claudia's little nickname for Ginny in this chapter is borrowed from a review kymby67 left a couple of chapters ago. I read it, and knew it was the perfect way to describe her! Hope you don't mind, kymby67!**

* * *

"And… checkmate," Edith smiled across the board at Mr Pelham.

He frowned, half-surprised, at the board for a moment and then his face cleared and he let loose a laugh. "Indeed it is." Reaching across, he extended his hand for her to shake. "Very well fought."

Looking up from her embroidery, the Countess offered a slightly anxious frown. "I'm not sure how ladylike it is, Edith - to beat poor Mr Pelham three times in a row!"

Mary, at the piano across the room, retorted, half-sharply, "I'm not sure how ladylike _Edith_ is."

Sybil looked up from her book - one of Richard's weighty political tomes - and rolled her eyes. "And why does 'ladylike' always mean having to lose, anyway?"

Cousin Isobel clucked her tongue. "Come, come, girls. No quarrelling on Christmas Day. I'm sure Mr Pelham has enough sense of self-worth not to take umbrage at losing a silly little game of chess."

"Indeed I do," Mr Pelham reassured Edith, smiling softly. "Sometimes his lordship favours me with a game or two, but… you're really frightfully good."

"Thank you." She blushed. Really, Mr Pelham was very nice. Over their three games of chess, they had quite a pleasant chat. He was funny and easy to be with and rather charming, and talking to him - about nothing in particular - was already starting to feel so normal and - and _automatic_, somehow.

After tea, Sybil dragged Edith away upstairs to look over a new dress she had brought up with her. Really, it was just an excuse, Edith knew. Sybil was bored of the company, and needed time away from them - and Edith was happy to oblige. In actual fact, she was rather relieved - not to mention surprised - that Sybil had managed to extricate herself without the usual argument over nothing. Perhaps her little sister really _was_ maturing.

"I _do_ miss you," Sybil sighed, folding the blue monstrosity away in her wardrobe again. "Yorkshire seems such a _long_ way away."

Edith perched on the end of the bed, an amused smile passing over her face. "Well, darling, if you were a better correspondent, perhaps I'd feel closer."

Sybil pulled an expressive face. "No, thank you. You know being cooped up with pens and paper is my idea of a nightmare. Anyway, it means that I can tell you all about when I went to the British Museum last week, face to face."

"However did you get Mary to agree to take you?" Edith asked. "She _hates_ museums."

Sybil shook her head. "Oh… I didn't go with Mary."

"Oh. Mama, then." Edith frowned. "She didn't mention it in her last letter."

"No." Sybil hesitated, then elaborated, "A friend."

Absently, Edith leant back and began to neaten items on Sybil's bedside table. "That was nice of her, to think of a treat like that for you."

"Yes." Sybil's voice was slightly halting. Twisting her neck, Edith stared at her. "Sybil, what is it?"

"What's what?" She had replied far too quickly, and Edith's suspicious side, never far from the surface, bubbled up.

"You look as if you're about to explode," she pointed out severely.

Sybil exhaled. "All right." After looking anxiously towards the door, as if half-expecting someone to burst in at any moment, Sybil leant forwards and took both of her sister's hands in hers. "But you must _promise _not to mention it to Mary, or to Mama. _Or _to Richard." Her fingers squeezed against Edith's tightly as she emphasised, "_Especially_ not to Richard."

"Sybil - "

"_Promise me!_"

"All - all right," Edith replied hesitantly.

"I went with Tom," Sybil admitted quietly.

"Tom? Tom wh - " Edith stopped, eyes widening. "Tom _Branson?_ Richard's _journalist _Tom Branson?"

Sybil nodded, her face splitting into a wide, bashful grin, as Edith gave a gasp of mingled astonishment and shock. "But, Sybil, to go out alone with a _man_ \- !"

"Oh, it isn't like that!" Sybil reassured her with an airy wave of her hand. "He's not _sweet_ on me, or anything silly. He's just a _friend_, Edie, that's all." She shrugged. "We get on well together. He's clever and well-read. We agree on a lot of things - and he's fun to argue with when we don't." Her younger sister's expression deepened into mischief. "_Much_ more fun than any of you are."

"Well, thank you very much," Edith replied dryly. "So if he's _just a friend_, why are you hiding him from Mary and Mama and Richard?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Mary doesn't like his politics. Mama would have me halfway up the aisle with him in ten seconds flat. And Richard… just wouldn't approve. He can be a frightful snob, you know - worse than Mary sometimes. To him, it would be like my - my associating with the chauffeur."

Edith frowned. "He just worries about us, you know. I'm sure there are a lot of girls out there who wish they had someone like him to take care of them."

Sybil sighed and flopped backwards on the bed, hands crossed over her stomach. "I _know._ But that doesn't mean that I have to agree with him all the time, or follow _all _of his silly little rules, Edith. Does it?"

Edith lay back next to her, arms stretched up and out to pillow her head. "Well, no. I suppose not. Just… don't do anything silly, hmm? Promise _me_."

"Promise," Sybil grinned. "I'll be just as sensible and staid as my responsible big sister."

Inwardly, Edith winced. _Oh,_ _Sybil, that's _precisely_ what worries me._

* * *

"I wish," Hugh Gervas sighed sleepily, "that you'd tell me what you're thinking, old girl, so we could both get some shut-eye."

Claudia exhaled noisily and sat up, turning the bedside light on. "I'm sorry. I just… can't stop thinking about Anthony."

"Oh," Hugh replied. "In that case, I think I've changed my mind. I don't want to hear at all. I do _try_ to be a liberal man, m'dear, but when it comes to your mooning over other chaps in our bed - "

"Not like _that_, darling idiot." Claudia huffed impatiently. "I _mean_, I'm starting to wish I'd never stirred up this Ginny Fyfe business again."

"Ah. Well, if it's any consolation, it doesn't seem as if Anthony is at all interested. If anything, it's his secretary he's got eyes for."

"But who wants to tell _Ginny _that?" Claudia shivered, and Hugh reflexively tugged her closer, letting her snuggle deeper into his chest. "She had that look in her eye today, Hugh - like Jasper when he's scented rabbits. All predatory and - and _murderous_, almost."

Hugh let out a soft chuckle. "Oh, she'd _love_ to hear herself compared to your spaniel, my darling."

Claudia gave him a worried frown. "She's a calculating, conniving little _witch_, Hugh. I thought the years might have mellowed her, but she's still that same spiteful wretch who'd smile to your face while quite merrily burying a dagger in your back." She shook her head miserably. "I was an _idiot_ to even think of it."

"Now, no more of that!" Hugh scolded lightly. "You're not _that_, whatever else you may be, my love. Anyway," he added bracingly. "Anthony's a sensible chap. Got his head screwed on the right way. He won't let himself get… caught up in any of Ginny's nonsense."

"I wish I could believe you," Claudia mumbled miserably.

"Well…" Hugh replied, dragging the single syllable out. "If I can't _convince_ you, will you at least let me try to _distract_ you?"

"Distract - ? _Oh_…" Claudia breathed as Hugh's hand feathered under her nightgown. "I _see_…"

* * *

"I - I can't tell you what a lovely day I've had," Mr Pelham murmured as he halted the tractor outside Locksley's main door. "I - " He paused, frowning. "I - I suppose it would be terribly forward of me to ask… well, you see, I - I was thinking of having a little jaunt into Ripon next Saturday afternoon and… would you like to meet for tea? I could collect you on my way through, and bring you back afterwards." His smile was slightly lop-sided. "I'd truly love to see you again, if you thought you could bear it."

Edith could tell that her expression must be looking very startled indeed - not least because she did not feel so very averse to such an invitation as, ever since… _the incident_, she had imagined that she might_. _Mr Pelham swallowed and looked away, letting out a breath. "I'm sorry. I hope you won't hold it against me for asking."

"No!" Edith blurted out. "No, I certainly won't! And - and I'd like to have tea with you. Very much."

"You would?" His face took on a half-bewildered, joyous expression. "Oh - excellent! Marvellous. Well, I could collect you at three?"

"That sounds lovely." Edith let out a soft little laugh. "Now, you must get home, before you freeze! You've been terribly kind."

"Not at all. It was… my pleasure."

Edith was still smiling faintly as she shut Locksley's large front door behind her. Turning, she noticed that, despite the hour, there was a light under the library door, which was slightly ajar. For the moment, she forgot her promise to lock up. Hesitantly, Edith pushed the door open further and knocked gently on the frame. "Hello?"

From the winged-back chair, Sir Anthony rose up and turned to face her. His jacket had been discarded, his white tie from dinner hung loose around his neck, and in one hand he held a book, place marked with one long finger. A glass containing a half-finger of whisky rested on the occasional table next to him. "Hello, my dear. A pleasant day?"

"Yes, thank you, sir. A very pleasant day." She hesitated. "I hope you and Master Pip enjoyed yourselves, too."

His smile was brief, and he didn't quite meet her eyes. "We had… a very nice Christmas. Thank you."

The clock in the hall struck midnight and Edith glanced, startled, over her shoulder. "Oh! I had no idea it was so late. I - I hope you weren't still up on my account, sir."

"Not at all." Quickly, he finished his drink. "But I like to know that everyone's home, safe and sound."

Edith ducked her head, blushing. "Well, here I am, as you can see. S-safe and sound, sir." Discreetly, she lifted a hand to stifle a yawn, and saw a flicker of soft, kind amusement in Sir Anthony's eyes.

"You're falling asleep where you stand, my dear," he told her. "Go to bed, hmm?"

"Yes - I shall just go and bolt the door." Another yawn and Sir Anthony ushered her out of the library, like a shepherd herding sheep.

"To bed," he repeated firmly. "I'll lock up."

"But - "

He was already turning away. "Sleep well, Mrs Crawley."


	23. Walk and Talk

**AN: Hello again! Apologies for the lack of updates over the past couple of weeks - my day-job is as an English teacher at a secondary school and the end of the summer term was ridiculously hectic (60 mock exam papers to mark in a week!). But now I am on summer holibobs and have just about recovered from the chaos, so am back to chipping away at this fic :) And now... on with the story!**

* * *

"Can we give Mrs Crawley her Christmas present now, Papa?" asked Pip as they left the breakfast table the next morning.

"Yes," agreed Sir Anthony. To Edith he apologised, "You left so early yesterday morning that we quite forgot about it until after dinner. It's on your desk." Together, they walked through to the library.

Edith raised her eyebrows. "You really didn't have to - "

"Locksley tradition, I'm afraid. And we thought you'd like this better than the dress fabric the maids got."

Pip nodded enthusiastically and stood, positively vibrating with excitement, as Edith lifted the slim rectangular package on her desk and opened it.

Inside was the most beautiful fountain pen she had ever seen. Engraved along the barrel were the initials _E.M.C, _and the date _1912\. _

"Sir…" Edith exhaled. "It's… _lovely_."

"Something you'll get a lot of use out of, we thought…" Sir Anthony shrugged, looking almost bashful.

"I certainly shall!" Edith agreed, giving him a brilliant smile.

"I picked it, in the shop," Pip interjected.

"And you were absolutely right, my dear," Edith reassured him, touching his cheek briefly. "I couldn't have chosen better myself. _Thank you_, both of you."

Sir Anthony flushed with pleasure, hands dug deep into his pockets as he flashed her a rather sheepish, boyish grin. Edith's heart stuttered a little at that - and then Pip was tugging at her hand, demanding her attention. "Are you going back to Downton today, Mrs Crawley?"

Edith shook her head. "No. I might go back for New Year's Day, if the snow clears by then - but you know, Mr Pelham has far more important things to be doing with his time than driving Lord Grantham's tractors all over the neighbourhood for my amusement."

"Then you can come on our walk!" Pip insisted. "Papa and I always go on a walk on Boxing Day and - "

" - And Mrs Crawley may have better things to do with her day than traipse through fields of snow with us, Phillip," his father reminded him gently.

"Oh, you'd like to come, wouldn't you, Mrs Crawley?"

"Of course, Master Pip."

"Smashing! Half an hour?"

"You won't be too tired?" Sir Anthony fretted. "You went to bed very late…"

"I wouldn't mind," Edith put in quietly. "I spent half the day yesterday cooped up in a drawing room - it'd be a relief to stretch my legs." She smiled up at him. "Half an hour, sir?"

* * *

"We'll go once round the orchard and then back," Sir Anthony ordered sternly as they left the house. "You're on crutches still, and Mrs Crawley doesn't have the shoes for a longer walk." As he spoke, his hand brushed gently against the back of Pip's head, belying the severity of his tone.

Mrs Dale watched from the upstairs landing window as the three of them wandered in the direction of the orchard. They made a nice party, she thought, Sir Anthony matching his long stride to Mrs Crawley's shorter one as Master Pip hopped along ahead of them; as they moved further away, Mrs Dale heard the faint murmur of the master's voice, and saw Mrs Crawley tilt her head back to look at him, smiling widely. _Well, they certainly fit better together than he and Lady Fyfe!_

And hadn't _that_ been awkward yesterday, watching her try to ingratiate herself with Master Pip, who had taken so obviously and immediately against her? It was the first time in a very long time that the master and he had come close to quarrelling, and on Christmas Day too! It had left a bad taste in Mrs Dale's mouth, and no mistake. And there was still New Year's Eve to be got through without bloodshed!

With a sigh, the old housekeeper turned back to her duties.

* * *

"We should turn back," Sir Anthony announced as they reached the gate at the far end of the orchard, which led into the fields beyond.

Pip groaned in complaint. "Oh, _Papa!_ I'm not tired, honestly! Can't we go on a bit longer? Just as far as the woods?"

Sir Anthony met Edith's eyes over the top of Pip's head, an anxious, questioning look crossing his face; her lips quirked as if to say, _Oh, go on. I'm all right, _and he returned her smile. "All right. Just as far as the woods - and then we really _are_ turning back."

It was somewhat doubtful whether Pip, already hopping ahead, had heard him; Mrs Crawley laughed and Anthony found himself giving a half-aggrieved sigh. "Do you know, I sometimes wonder who is in charge around here?"

Mrs Crawley gave him a mischievous glance. "Oh, sir, it's perfectly clear to me." The dimples around her mouth deepened, as she added innocently, "Mrs Dale is _such_ a born commander, don't you think?"

Sir Anthony spread his arms wide. "I am _surrounded_ by betrayal this morning!"

Mrs Crawley laughed again and Anthony found himself wondering what else he could do to make her make that lovely, joyful, clear sound again, for as long as possible. "I'm very sorry, sir." She was doing her best to look contrite, but it wasn't quite working. An adorable little smirk kept creeping on to her face.

The sudden warmth that shot through him as he looked at her made Anthony speak without thinking. "Mmm, well, then, as your employer, I think that your punishment for such insubordination should be that you must come and stand with me during the shoot on Saturday, and put up with my dull conversation for the whole day." He tucked his hands into his pockets. "So you've been well served for your mischief, Mrs Crawley."

His secretary's face fell. "Oh," she managed, carefully. "I…"

It felt as though he had been doused thoroughly with cold water. Hastily, he tried to recover. "That was a jest, my dear. I didn't really expect - "

"No! No, it isn't… I'd have liked to, truly, sir… only…" Mrs Crawley blushed faintly around her cheekbones. "Mr Pelham has asked me to go to tea with him in Ripon on Saturday afternoon. He's collecting me at three o'clock." Her face faded to a stricken whisper. "I'm sorry." Anxiously, she chewed at her lip. "I wouldn't have agreed if I'd thought you would need me." She looked quite thoroughly miserable.

Gently, Anthony squeezed her shoulder. "Not at all. As I say, I was… joking. And, as I think we've already established, you don't get out and about enough. I'm sure you'll have a… _lovely_ time."

"Yes," Mrs Crawley murmured, although she didn't sound entirely convinced.

"Papa? Mrs Crawley? Are you coming?" Pip's yell drew their attention.

"Of course! Coming, Master Pip!" Mrs Crawley called back, and with a last anxious look at Anthony, she strode off ahead.

* * *

Anthony found it difficult to sleep that night. Insomnia wasn't an unusual occurrence for him, particularly since Maude's death - something about the lack of another warm body curled beside him at night - but it was rare for him to be kept awake by thoughts of anyone or anything in particular.

It had, by all accounts, been a pleasant day, mostly. Of course, it had been nice to have an empty house about him, with no guests to entertain, but… it was more than that. The walk had been enjoyable - more than that, if he was honest. Mrs Crawley had… _fit_, somehow - had slotted into his and Pip's little traditions as smoothly and seamlessly as if she had been there forever. There had been something _comforting_ about it. Reassuring. It had been good to have another person - a _woman_ \- alongside him, chatting and laughing and watching over Pip.

If he were being completely honest with himself, it had been good to have _Mrs Crawley specifically_ there, in the way that it had most decidedly _not_ been good to have Virginia around the previous day.

Heavily, he sighed. Perhaps that was being uncharitable. Ginny had no children of her own, had not been around them enough to know how to interact with them without clumsiness. But still… his brow crinkled unhappily. There had been… _something_… there that had made Pip dislike her, just as there was something about Mrs Crawley that had made them such fast and firm chums.

Still, he could not shake the feeling of… He didn't quite know what. But… for half an hour today, the burden of parenthood had seemed to be shared and halved, and it had… lightened his spirits somehow, despite that unfortunate moment by the field gate. He had forgotten what that was like, to have a - a partner, a companion, an equal, yes, but something _more_ than that - something…

Anthony huffed to himself and set aside his book, turning off the bedside light. He _refused_ to admit that Hugh might have had a point. The very idea was nonsensical. He admired Mrs Crawley's cleverness, that was all. Her presence just made his life and the household run more smoothly. He appreciated - he liked… she was…

And then, he had had his head turned by her prettiness and charm and blurted out something totally inappropriate and made her feel awkward. They had managed to recover their composure somewhat, he thought, but all the effortless ease that had characterised the walk out had vanished on the return journey. He sensed that Mrs Crawley had been thinking as hard about her own behaviour as he was about his - and he hated the idea that he had made her feel she had done anything wrong, behaved in any way improperly. Because she _hadn't._

It had all been his fault. His impulsiveness. His lack of control. His stupid, crude, boorish -

"She's your _secretary_," Anthony growled to himself crossly. "For God's sake, man, _control yourself._"


	24. Tea

"I'm sorry, am I boring you?" Mr Pelham asked gently, touching Edith's hand.

His pretty companion shook herself and fixed him with an apologetic smile, as the noise and bustle of the tearoom closed in on her once more. "No, no… I'm sorry, Mr Pelham. I was… miles away."

His face creased with concern and he poured her another cup of tea. "I do wish you'd call me Bertie, you know."

She closed her eyes briefly in amusement. "All right. I'm sorry, _Bertie._"

"Something troubling you?" he asked sympathetically.

"N-well, I…" Edith huffed in frustration and drummed her fingers on the table between them. "Sir Anthony asked me to accompany him to the shoot today, and obviously I was coming out with you, and I had to turn him down and…" She shook her head. "I'm feeling a little guilty about it, to tell you the truth."

Mr Pelham's - _Bertie's _\- frown only deepened. "Oh. Sorry, my dear. Is he a bit of a dragon to work for?"

"What? Oh, _no!_" Edith hastened to reassure him. "He's been… _lovely_ to me, and so generous. That's why I… _hate_ to think I'm not there if he needs me."

Bertie applied liberal amounts of jam and cream to a scone and deposited it on Edith's empty plate. Bracingly, he told her, "He'll be firing guns all day - what would he have needed his secretary for?" With a grin, he wondered, "To keep score?"

Edith smiled and took a bite of the admittedly-delicious scone, but her heart wasn't really in either. Sir Anthony had said several times that he had only been jesting about her accompanying him on the shoot, had been very firm in his refusal when Edith had suggested that very morning that she telephone Bertie to cancel their appointment, had shaken hands warmly and wished her a pleasant day before he had gone to walk out with the others - had, in short, done everything that could reasonably be expected of him to reassure her… and yet Edith still felt, somehow, that it was a gross dereliction of duty to be sitting here, in this lovely little tearoom, eating and drinking and laughing with Bertie Pelham.

But perhaps it was more than that. Edith had become very good, in the last year or so, at reading herself and her feelings, and no matter how much she might try to tell herself that all she felt for Anthony Strallan was the warm respect of a loyal employee, she knew deep down that that was not it at all - or not _all_ of it, anyway.

It had been coming on so gradually that she hardly knew, at this point, when precisely he had become so dear to her. But dear he was, in a thousand tiny ways that kept her constantly caught between wanting to throw her arms around him and wanting to burst into tears every time she saw him.

He was an excellent father - it was one of the first things she had noticed about him. He could make her laugh. He was kind, and, which was more important, always behaved as if his kindness were nothing. He listened - not just to what she said, but what she _didn't_ say, too. After everything he had found out about her, every awful, disgraceful, unvirtuous thing she had done, he had never once tried to use that knowledge against her. And, day by day, she was finding herself more and more attracted - in the basest, most primal sense - to that deep, rich voice, that flop of greying blonde hair, those piercingly blue eyes, that tall, lanky frame that made her feel so safe and secure…

The walk on Boxing Day had rather brought things to a head, she thought later, as Bertie went to pay their bill. For a brief, startling moment, she had thought she had seen… _something_… in Sir Anthony's eyes, something to which she could not put a name, something warm and affectionate and - and -

It had put her on edge for the rest of the day. She might think as fondly of him as she liked in her own head, but she had absolutely no desire to play out an encore of the sort of situation that she had ended up in with Michael. Not that she thought that Sir Anthony would ever, _ever_ try to take advantage of her in that way, or behave with any sort of impropriety towards her… but still it would be dangerous to allow herself to get too close to him.

_His_ feelings, after all, were not the risk. Sir Anthony probably felt nothing for her beyond common politeness, and perhaps the warm, vague familiarity one developed for those one saw on a daily basis. And even if he _did_ feel something more for her, Edith reminded herself firmly, it did not matter. Out of all the people in the world, he was the one who knew the most about her - knew all of her secret shame and disgrace - and that alone would be enough to prevent him from developing any warmer feelings.

No, the danger, Edith knew, was all on her part. If she let her heart run away with itself like this, it would only end up broken, and she wasn't entirely sure whether she would survive that.

Men in Sir Anthony Strallan's position couldn't afford to be forming attachments to women like her. He was intelligent enough that he would recognise that, just as he would be too kind ever to mention it to her. And if she wanted to eventually leave his employ with her heart intact, Edith thought grimly as Bertie helped her with her coat, then she'd leave well enough alone.

"Have you time for a walk?" Bertie asked as they stood on the step outside the tearoom. "Or must you hurry off straight away?"

Edith looked at him for a moment. He was quite handsome really, in a boyish, lopsided, puppy-dog sort of way. He was sweet and thoughtful and made her smile. Tea had been… _jolly_, despite her distraction, and she didn't want to be alone for the rest of her life. If she couldn't have an Anthony Strallan, perhaps she might yet manage to have a Bertie Pelham.

"A walk would be lovely, Bertie," she smiled and let him take her arm. _Please, Lord, let me not be alone._

* * *

"Hel-_lo_," Bertie frowned as the car approached Locksley's front door. "Isn't that Dr Clarkson's car? Is someone ill?"

Edith looked where he was pointing and saw, true enough, the doctor's plain black vehicle. "No one was when I left." Hastily, she scrambled out of the car as soon as Bertie had parked it. "Bertie - thank you for a lovely afternoon, but I should really go and see if everyone is all right."

"Never off duty, hmm?" Bertie grinned and extended his hand for her to shake.

Ignoring it, Edith pecked him quickly on the cheek. "Oh!" he blushed, pleased. "Oh, I say. Umm… I'm off to a pig show next week. Thursday - your afternoon off, isn't it? And… well, I could use your discerning eye."

"I'd love to. I'll telephone later and confirm details, but I really should…" Anxiously, she cast a glance behind her towards the house.

"Of course. I'll speak to you later."

* * *

Inside the hallway, Sir Hugh Gervas was anxiously twisting his hat between his fingers. "Mrs Crawley! Thank God!" he exclaimed as Edith shut the front door behind her.

An icy hand clenched in her belly as she took in his ashen face. "Sir Hugh? Whatever's happened?"

"Accident on the shoot, my dear. The doctor's with him now - " Helplessly, he gestured towards the library.

Edith didn't wait to hear more; before Sir Hugh could stop her, she had dashed for the passage, inwardly cursing her long skirt.

The library door was half-ajar; Edith knocked once and then launched herself inside, nearly colliding with Dr Clarkson, who was on his way out.

He offered her a knowing smile. "Hello, m'dear. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you, doctor." Breathless, Edith tried to crane around him to see further into the room. "And Sir Anthony - ?"

"Sir Anthony wishes everyone would stop making such a devil of a fuss!" her employer called irritably.

She had never been so happy to hear anyone's voice.

Dr Clarkson backed up so that Edith could come inside, hiding a smile behind one hand at her relieved exhalation. Sir Anthony sat on the chaise, propped up by a mountain of pillows, a large quantity of sticking plaster over his left temple.

"_Whatever_ happened?" Edith squeaked.

"I let Dickie Merton bring his oldest son along on the shoot," Sir Anthony scowled and Dr Clarkson and Edith shared an exasperated look.

"A gun misfired and grazed Sir Anthony's temple," Dr Clarkson explained, "but he'll be all right in a day or so."

"Thank you, doctor," Edith sighed, relieved. "Can we offer you some tea?"

"No, thank you," he waved away the offer airily. "I told Lady Grantham that I'd drop by the Abbey this afternoon, so I had better be off."

"Oh? She isn't unwell, is she?"

"No, no. Just a touch of anxiety, I think. Quite common in…" The doctor seemed to recall to whom he was speaking and coughed over the end of his sentence. "Yes, well, I shall leave you in Mrs Crawley's capable hands, Sir Anthony." Shaking hands with Edith, he told her, "Give him an aspirin if his head hurts, and I shall come back the day after tomorrow to inspect the dressings."

Dr Clarkson passed Sir Hugh in the doorway. "All right, old man?" Hugh asked anxiously, bending down over the sofa to inspect the invalid; wisely, Edith intervened before her employer could explode at his friend. "Quite all right, I think, Sir Hugh. No lasting damage."

Sir Hugh's rather round face cleared, the colour starting to come back into his cheeks. "Good, good! Claudia was in a devil of a fret about you, Anthony - she was quite sure Larry Grey had managed to blow your head clean off!" At Anthony's deepening scowl, Hugh turned back to Edith. "Well, I'll leave him to you, then, my dear," he winked at her. "I'm sure you're more than capable of dealing with him."

"_Hugh…_" Sir Anthony warned from the sofa.

"Claudia and I can keep Pip for the night, if you like? Bring him back in the morning?"

"Thank you," Sir Anthony nodded wearily. "I'd appreciate it. Tell him I'll telephone before he goes to bed."

Sir Hugh squeezed his friend's shoulder, nodded to Edith and slipped from the room. Edith advanced slowly and looked down on Sir Anthony, hands on her hips. "Sir…"

Sir Anthony gave her a faint grin. "I know, I know. You go away for one afternoon and come back to pandemonium. Sorry."

Edith could feel a smile tugging at her lips. "So I take it Mr Grey is a bad shot?"

"You _could_ say that." Reassuringly, he said, "I'm quite all right, my dear. Just a bad scrape, really, and a bit of a burn. Didn't even need stitches."

Edith sank down next to him on the sofa and Sir Anthony watched her anxiously. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "Did Hugh frighten you? He's always been an awful worrier - "

"No… He said that there had been an - an accident and that the _doctor_ was here and I… I thought it was all going to be much, _much_ worse," Edith managed, startled at how shaky her voice sounded.

"Well, it wasn't. I'm all in one piece, just about, and - "

At that moment, Mrs Dale entered with the tea tray. "Oh, Mrs Crawley, you're back! I suppose you've heard about all the kerfuffle."

"Yes, Sir Anthony was just telling me."

Mrs Dale shook her head disapprovingly. "Men and their guns!" she announced, exasperatedly. "If they aren't the cause of all the world's problems, then I don't know what is!"

Sir Anthony raised his eyebrows faintly, making Edith stifle a giggle. "Thank you, Mrs Dale," he murmured dryly.

His housekeeper pursed her lips. "You're lucky you didn't lose an eye, sir," she told him severely. "What on _earth_ will Lady Strallan say when - "

Sir Anthony's eyes widened as he rose from the sofa to hold the door for her. "Yes, _thank you,_ Mrs Dale," he said loudly. "I am more than capable of dealing with my mother, I think."

Mrs Dale's frown only deepened. "Yes, well, the doctor says you should have someone sit with you for the rest of the afternoon, just to make sure all's well."

"I can do that," Mrs Crawley volunteered quietly, and Anthony felt a grin appearing on his face.

"So you haven't managed to escape my dull conversation after all, my dear," he teased as Mrs Dale left the room.

"It seems not, sir," Mrs Crawley replied - but she was smiling.

* * *

"Everything all right, Pip?" Aunt Claudia smiled as she looked up from her book.

Pip, in borrowed pyjamas that were slightly too big for him, nodded. He'd been whisked away by Aunt Claudia (who'd been splitting her time between Uncle Hugh and Papa) as soon as that idiot Larry Grey's gun had gone off. All he remembered was the blood running down Papa's cheek, and Uncle Hugh's shout of, "Good _God!_" before Aunt Claudia had seized his hand and pulled him back towards Locksley.

Thankfully, Papa was all right, and after all the exhaustion and anxiety of the day, Pip was feeling quite sleepy now. He perched on the low sofa, stifling a yawn, and Aunt Claudia set her book aside. "And your Papa was well?"

Pip grinned. Jasper, Aunt Claudia's faithful spaniel, lifted his head from where it lay next to his mistress's feet, and trotted over to butt his nose against Pip's good shin, silently begging for a fuss. Pip obliged, burying his fingers in the spaniel's silky fur. "Oh, yes. He said he had Mrs Crawley looking after him, so none of us need to worry."

His aunt raised a fond eyebrow. "Is that right? You like Mrs Crawley, then, Pip?"

"Rather!" If Pip had been a dog, his tail would have been almost wagging off, Claudia was sure. "She's frightfully clever, and funny as well. She's always making Papa laugh."

"Is she?" His aunt's ears seemed to have pricked up.

"_And_," Pip confided, trying his best to sound grown-up, "if Papa's so keen on the idea of getting married again, I don't see why he couldn't pick Mrs Crawley, since they get on so well together."

Aunt Claudia favoured him with one of her rare, brilliant smiles. "Do you know, Pip, nor do I?"


	25. New Year

On New Year's Eve, the snow descended again with a vengeance, after a night of strong winds and chilling frost. It fell in thick, blurring clouds from the sky, making it impossible to see more than a few inches ahead if one dared to venture out. It settled heavily on the ground, blotting out the features of the landscape and turning the fields around Locksley into one uniform white plain. Sir Anthony piled coals onto the library fire and Mrs Dale forbade Pip from stirring out of doors, under threat of no supper for a week.

"I could bring the tractor out again," Bertie suggested to Edith; even down the telephone line, she could tell he was smiling.

"I _don't _think so, Bertie. It's vile out there. Matthew would never forgive you if you crashed his tractor, and I'd never forgive myself if you ended up freezing to death. I shall be quite all right. Is my mother there? I ought to speak to her."

Once she had spoken to Mama, and wished her a happy new year, and fended off some delicate hints about Mr Pelham, Edith returned to the library. Sir Anthony looked up from a letter he was writing to Lady Strallan. "I suppose your knight-in-shining-armour will be arriving later, to take you to the festivities at the Abbey?" he asked.

Edith flushed faintly as she sat down at her desk. "No," she replied lightly once she had quite got her composure back. "I told Mr Pelham that it was perfectly silly of him to even think of it. You see, I haven't _quite_ lost my head, sir."

"I would never think it," he assured her seriously. "But… I'm glad that you're… developing a social life. You should spend more time with people your own age."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Distractedly, she opened the account book and began to open the small stack of letters next to her. The postman had _just_ about got through that morning from the village, but he had had to spend a quarter of an hour in the kitchen with Mrs Cox afterwards, being revived by the twin medicines of hot tea and buttered crumpets. "I've always considered myself… rather an old soul, sir. Oh, here's the bill from the poulterers' - I wondered where it had got to."

"Excellent - you shan't have to telephone." Fiddling a little with the edge of the blotter on his own desk, Anthony added, "Well, we'll put your assertion to the test tonight. An evening spent in the company of some of my friends, and you may realise what a boring, stuffy set we really are."

"Your friends, sir?" she blinked, reaching for the cheque book. Frowning as she looked over the bill again, she shook her head. "There's a mistake here. Mr Harrison promised Mrs Cox _faithfully_ that it wouldn't cost us more than…" Trailing off, she caught sight of Sir Anthony, smiling faintly at her, set aside the bill and bit her lip sheepishly. "I'll deal with it later. What were you saying, sir?"

"You couldn't accept my invitation for Christmas Day - I hope you'll accept for this evening?" His lips quirked. "That is, if you're not otherwise engaged in wrangling with Mr Harrison - may God have mercy on his soul."

"I think I can manage Mr Harrison, thank you very much, sir," his secretary replied in rather prim accents. She stood up decisively, heading for the hall telephone. "And I'd like to come to the party very much."

But in the end, the party didn't happen. Once Edith had got off the telephone with Mr Harrison - who promised that a new, amended bill would be sent out that afternoon - she had barely got across the hall before it was ringing again. "Hello, Locksley Hall, Edith Crawley speaking."

"Oh, Mrs Crawley!" It was Lady Gervas. "My dear, the Ripon road's quite thoroughly blocked. A tree came down in the storm last night. I doubt any of Sir Anthony's other guests will be able to get through either. Please tell him how awfully sorry we are that we'll miss the party."

"Of course, Lady Gervas. I know Sir Anthony would want me to wish you a happy New Year, and to Sir Hugh, too, of course."

Lady Gervas's telephone call was not the last. Next were the Montgomeries from Cordingley Grange, old Lady Helen Spalding, and finally Lady Fyfe, who sounded most put out when the master of the house himself did not answer the telephone. "So inconvenient, when a silly old tree spoils the plans of _dozens_ of people," she tutted. "Why the local men can't hurry up and remove it, I will never understand."

"I'm sure they're doing their best, my lady," Edith tried.

Lady Fyfe sniffed. "Well, please give Sir Anthony my best regards. Goodbye, Mrs Crawley."

"Yes. Good - " The click of the phone told her that her ladyship had already hung up. Exhaling in relief, Edith returned to the library.

"Goodness," said Sir Anthony, "for a while there, it sounded like Piccadilly Circus via telephone. Nothing wrong, I hope?"

"I'm sorry, sir - apparently a tree came down across the Ripon road last night and it's completely blocked. Everyone was telephoning to give their apologies for this evening."

"Then it will be just you and I and Pip, then, Mrs Crawley."

"Oh, I…"

"Come, come. Surely you've had time to put Mr Harrison back in his box?" her employer prompted gently. Edith couldn't help smiling.

* * *

Mrs Cox, already elbow-deep in culinary preparations for the party, tutted and shook her head when Edith broke the bad news to her. "Well," she sighed at last, "at least most of it'll be cold - and Master Pip can eat enough for three." Pausing to look appraisingly at Edith, she added, "And _you_ could do with fattening up, too, my girl. Far too thin - I'm sure you only ever eat like a bird. And as for the master…!"

"Oh, Mrs Cox!" Edith laughed. "You can't say that _he_ doesn't eat, surely!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised." Mrs Cox floured the marble slab in front of her and emptied out her pastry dough on to it. Nodding to a cupboard behind her, she added, "Fetch the mincemeat, there's a dear."

As Edith lifted the heavy jar, labelled in Mrs Cox's neat handwriting, out of the cupboard, Mrs Cox sighed, "For six months after Lady Strallan - Lady Maude - died, it was meals on a tray in the library that he hardly touched."

"What about Master Pip?" Edith wondered, setting the jar down next to her and sliding into a seat at the kitchen table. "Do these apples need peeling, Mrs Cox?"

"What? Oh, yes. Core 'em too, thank you." The cook looked up from her rolling pin. "I promised the master an Apple Charlotte. That awful sweet tooth of his." But there was a fond glimmer in the depths of her dark eyes as Edith picked up the small kitchen knife lying next to the basket. "Well, of course, Master Pip was in London, then, with his grandmother - well before he started at the grammar school, it was. Sir Anthony was that… cast down and grieving after Lady Strallan died… didn't think he could look after the lad."

Edith stared. "That's awful. They must both have been…"

Mrs Cox looked with satisfaction at the perfectly rolled sheet of pastry and reached for her cutter. Catching Edith's stricken look, she nodded. "Aye, they were, my dear - that and more." She shook her head. "If you ask me, he's still not quite himself. Nor will be, until he marries again."

Edith felt a hot blush flooding her cheeks and the knife trembled in her hand. "I'm sure the master's a very eligible man. There'd be… no shortage of candidates, I shouldn't think."

"Oh, no," Mrs Cox replied, shooting a narrow, thoughtful look at the top of Mrs Crawley's bent head. "But it'd take a very particular sort of woman to make him happy…"

* * *

It was a very pleasant evening, for the most part. Sir Anthony opened a bottle of champagne from the cellar and poured a glass for himself and Edith, stoically ignoring Pip's interested queries as to the possibility of a third glass. They gorged themselves on Mrs Cox's delicious handiwork - Apple Charlotte, and mince pies, and dainty finger sandwiches, and thick meaty slices of cold game pie - and played a hand of gin rummy. Eventually, they found themselves curled into the sofa around the fire, while Sir Anthony fiddled with the gramophone until it creaked into life, playing some popular tune or other.

Pip flopped back until his head rested in Edith's lap; gently, she brushed a curl of blonde hair out of his eyes and closed her own. She was warm, and the food and the champagne were lulling her into sleepiness.

"You shouldn't let him fall asleep on you," Sir Anthony tutted from nearby and Edith blinked her eyes open. "He's a dead weight, as my papa used to say."

Pip's forehead creased. "Am not," he muttered, shifting his shoulders self-consciously, and Edith chuckled.

"Of _course_ not, my dear."

Pip relaxed. "What's _your_ papa like, Mrs Crawley?" he wondered, after a long while.

Sir Anthony tensed almost imperceptibly. "Pip, we don't ask personal questions."

"It's all right." Edith gave him a faint, wan smile. "Not nearly so lovely as yours, Master Pip," she replied eventually. Gently, she lifted Pip's head from her lap, feeling suddenly shaky. "Do you know, my dear, I have rather a headache? I may retire." At the door, she turned and managed, "Happy New Year, gentlemen."

There was silence for a moment, and then Anthony stood. "I'm just going to make sure Mrs Crawley is quite all right, Pip."

"Did I offend her, Papa?" Pip wondered anxiously.

Reassuringly, Anthony ruffled his hair. "No, no. I'm sure you didn't. But sometimes, Mrs Crawley doesn't want to worry us, so we must just… press a little, to be sure she's quite well."

He caught up with her at the end of the library passage, at the foot of the stairs.

"Mrs Crawley? Are you quite well?"

"Y-yes." She turned to face him. "Fine."

It was dark in the hall, but he could see the glittering tear-tracks on her cheeks by the thin light filtering down from the upstairs landing. "You're crying."

"Just my head. Honestly." She forced a weak smile. "I shouldn't have had the ch-champagne."

"My dear…" His voice was almost achingly tender, and when he lifted his hand and touched his warm thumb to her damp cheek, brushing just under her left eye, it was all suddenly too much.

She _flinched,_ stumbling away from him. Her back hit the wall and her eyes shot to his, wide and alarmed. "_Please_," she whispered. "_Don't._"

He stepped back immediately, putting a clear two feet between them, but that did absolutely _nothing_ to slow the sprinting of Edith's pulse. God, what was she turning into? This was _Sir Anthony_, for goodness' sake! He wasn't Michael, who'd see her tears and coax and coddle her until he'd got her into his bed. _And where on earth had _that_ thought come from?_

"Forgive me," he murmured. "I didn't intend to - "

Roughly, she swiped the tears away. "It wasn't you, sir. Sorry. Can't b-bear to be t-touched when I'm like this."

His face creased with concern, but he made no move to come nearer again. "Will you be all right? Shall I ring for Mrs Dale to escort you upstairs? Fetch you an aspirin?"

She let loose a short, hiccuping chuckle. "No. Thank you. I'll - I'll see you in the morning, sir."

"Goodnight, Mrs Crawley. Happy New Year."

"Yes." Her foot was already on the bottom step, and she did not dare turn back. "H-Happy New Year."

* * *

Long after the clock had struck midnight, long after he had roused Pip and sent him off trudging to bed, Anthony Strallan sat in his library, nursing an empty glass and staring at his thumb.

He could still feel her eyelashes there, for God's sake, fluttering against it like tiny trapped birds.

And, that being the case, he found himself forced to admit that Hugh had been very _much_ right. He _was_ sweet on her. More than that, really. _And when had that happened?_ God only knew.

Idly, he let his thoughts wander.

She _adored_ Pip. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that she was more than halfway to being the boy's mother already, and Anthony was more observant than most. He saw it in her eyes sometimes, that longing - heard it in her voice when she called Pip 'my dear', the only endearment she would permit herself with him - noticed the faint pleased blush that mantled her cheeks when Pip hugged her, or reached for her hand, or came rushing into the study with a cry of "Mrs Crawley!" on his lips.

A more selfish man might have used that to his advantage. Other women would look at him and see a title, a comfortable house, prosperous lands, a deep and open purse. Not Mrs Crawley. She wouldn't care a fig for any of it. But if he proposed to her like _that_ \- if he set it out in _those_ terms - _marry me and be Pip's mother_ \- he thought that he might have a chance at getting her to accept, accept and endure his own clumsy attentions with her particular brand of grace and dignity. She might even, for a few years at least, be able to fool herself that it was what she wanted - that _he_, boring dull old Anthony Strallan, was what she wanted, too.

_Wanted. _

He had been _drowning_ in the stuff. He wanted her at his side always, her hand in his. He wanted that slight frown between her eyebrows when she was reading, puzzling through some tricky intellectual problem. He wanted the triumph that would bloom across her face once she had solved it, wanted to be able to take open, unashamed pride in her brilliance. He wanted her sunny smile and her adorable dimples across a breakfast table from him for the rest of his life. He wanted to be able to do more than pat her hand and offer commonplace sympathies when she felt sad. He wanted to throw himself at her feet and tell her what an angel she was whenever she expressed the slightest idea of her own unworthiness. He wanted to promise her she would never want for anything again, not as long as she lived. He wanted her delectably plump mouth over his, her body curled against him at night. He wanted _her_ want. _God, _how he_ wanted, _how he was _tempted. _It was torturous and impossible and maddening.

And, of course, he could say nothing whatsoever to her.

It would be like spitting in her face. She was his _secretary_, in his employ and under his protection - even if that meant he had to protect her from himself. Not in a physical sense, of course - he was still gentleman enough on that score - but… to protect her from the sad evidence of his utter, hopeless devotion. She was his secretary and she deserved to work in peace.

And if she knew - if she knew what a fool he was making of himself over her - then she would leave, and he would never see her again.

* * *

"Mrs Crawley?" Edith woke to Mrs Dale setting down a full breakfast tray on her bedside table. "How are you feeling this morning, my dear? I hope your headache's gone?" She stared at Edith hard for a moment, and then nodded, satisfied. "Well, you _look_ all right, anyway."

Edith shuffled up against her pillows. "Quite all right, thank you, Mrs Dale." Guiltily, she let the housekeeper fuss about, pouring her tea and checking that the toast was still hot. "Really, I'm sorry to have caused all this extra trouble for you - "

"Nonsense," Mrs Dale shushed her. "We all need a bit of coddling now and again, my lamb. No trouble."

After her breakfast, Mrs Dale insisted on running her a hot bath and letting her languish until her skin turned prune-like and her head was foggy with steam.

The clock was just striking eleven o'clock when Edith descended into the hall; Sir Anthony stood with his back to her and as she reached the final step, she saw him run a rough hand through his hair. Stupidly, her heart flip-flopped.

"Yes. I quite understand," he replied. It sounded as if he were exhausted. "Of course. Thank you for telephoning. Yes, goodbye."

Hesitantly, Edith coughed as he replaced the phone. "Sir?" she asked. "Are you quite all right?"

"Yes." He offered her a tired smile. "That was Sergeant Oakes. They've caught the man who hit Pip."


	26. Court and Courting

"Twice in one month," Sir Anthony grimaced as he pushed open the door into the court and held it for Edith. "Whatever did we do to be tangled up with them _twice in one month_?"

Edith, sensing his mood, tried to cheer him up. "Perhaps you were very wicked in a past life, sir."

_That_ wrenched a smile from him, at least, for which she was glad. He had been quite thoroughly miserable ever since that telephone call last week. "Oh, my dear Mrs Crawley," he twinkled, "whatever makes you think it was a _past_ life?"

* * *

_"__You sound as if it's someone we know, sir," Edith frowned._

_"__Yes - well, not exactly." Sir Anthony rubbed wearily at his eyes. "It's Lord Merton's chauffeur."_

_Edith blinked. "Lord Merton as in - Larry-Grey's-father-Lord-Merton?" _

_"__The very one."_

_"__Poor old boy," she sighed. At Anthony's look of surprise, she elaborated, "He's Matthew's godfather, didn't you know? My sisters and I met him once, when we were little girls, at Downton. It must have been Christmas-time, or something like that, because he kept sneaking all of us children chocolates when Mama wasn't looking. He was very sweet."_

_"__Did you meet his sons, too?"_

_Edith crinkled her brow. "I vaguely remember. I was only little - about five or six? Tim was all right, I suppose - a little older than me." She shook her head. "Larry… pulled Sybil's hair." A faint grin broke out. "I think she pushed him into a pond."_

_"__I like your sister more and more every time I hear about her."_

_At Edith's little chuckle of laughter, his expression softened. "Now, last night. I'm glad to see you looking brighter this morning, but - "_

_"__It was all my own silliness," Edith interrupted hastily. "I'm so embarrassed about it, I - "_

_"__Nothing to be embarrassed about," Sir Anthony replied frankly. "I was a boor, and I would have been well-served if I'd ended up with a slap across my face." _

_"__Ridiculous!" Mrs Crawley was trying to purse her lips in disapproval as she preceded him down the library passage, but he could tell that a smile was fighting to escape. _

_"__Not ridiculous at all." They drew level with each other at the library door, facing each other on either side of it. Seriously, he reminded her, "I promised you that you would be safe here, my dear, and last night I fear that… I broke that promise to you."_

_"__You didn't break your promise, sir, and you didn't behave boorishly," she reassured him quietly. Her lips twitched. "And you _certainly_ didn't need to bully Mrs Dale and Mrs Cox into fussing over breakfast trays and baths this morning, either."_

_Gingerly, Sir Anthony ran a finger around the edge of his collar. "I have no idea what you're talking about." His expression was one of wide-eyed innocence._

_"__Oh, really?" she challenged him. "So how did Mrs Dale know about my headache?"_

_A faint pink tinge washed over his cheekbones and he looked at his shoes, avoiding her eyes. "Oh, you know how Pip rattles on…"_

_Edith stared fondly at the top of his head, all that was currently visible to her. Dryly, she replied, "Mmm, I do." Her voice softened. "But, as it happens, I'm very grateful to - to Pip. Somehow, he knew… exactly what I needed."_

_"__Well, he's a very intelligent lad." Softly, he checked, "And you're _sure_ you're all right?"_

_"__Absolutely. Shall we get on, sir?" Briskly, she walked into the library. "I have four cheques I need you to sign, Lady Helen has written asking you to dine on the fourteenth - oh, and there's a letter from the Provost at King's on your desk that I would have précised for you if I'd had any earthly idea what he was talking about."_

_Sir Anthony huffed out a laugh and, reaching for his fountain pen, sat down at his desk, while Edith reached for the large black diary they kept on the shelf behind hers. "When is the trial?" she inquired. "I'll make arrangements with Mrs Dale for us both to be absent, rearrange any appointments - "_

_"__I'm sorry?" Sir Anthony interrupted._

_She looked over her shoulder at him, half-startled. His reading spectacles had slipped down his nose and his blue eyes looked larger and more solemn than ever. "Well, for the trial," she prompted. "You'll want to be there, won't you, sir?"_

_"__Yes, of course…" He gestured vaguely between them. "I just didn't think that _you_ would."_

_She sat down abruptly in her chair, the wind taken quite out of her sails. "Oh. Forgive me. I simply thought… if you would permit it, sir, I _would_ like to be there."_

_"__Very well. I've no objection." His lips quirked. "As long as I don't have to prevent you from - what did you promise Pip? - Ah, yes… from boxing the accused's ears."_

_She blushed, ducking her head. "No, sir." She returned his smile. "Not unless I'm _exceptionally_ provoked."_

* * *

"Good morning. Sir Anthony Strallan," Sir Anthony told the usher. "We're here for the dangerous driving case."

"Of course, sir." Looking appraisingly at Edith, the usher offered, "Perhaps Lady Strallan would like to sit in the ladies' gallery, sir?"

"Oh!" Sir Anthony seemed momentarily unable to speak. "I - that is - we - "

"No," Mrs Crawley intervened serenely, resting a gentle hand on Anthony's arm. "Thank you very much, but I'll sit with - with Sir Anthony."

The usher gave her a courteous little bow; Edith suppressed a smile. "Of course, my lady. This way?"

"I'm sorry, my dear," Sir Anthony murmured as they followed him. He looked painfully, _ridiculously_ embarrassed. "Rather an insult to you there."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Edith replied lightly, almost teasingly. "In fact, I'm awfully flattered that he thought this dress suitable to be included in the wardrobe of a baronet's wife…"

They took their seats and looked towards the dock where the defendant - a scrawny, red-haired young man who looked barely out of his teens - was slumped, his hands cuffed in front of him. Edith tutted quietly, and Sir Anthony lifted his eyebrows in silent query. "Too pathetic-looking to despise," she sighed in explanation.

"Please be upstanding, ladies and gentlemen!" announced the usher from the doorway next to the bench.

It was the usual depressing, sordid story, of course. He'd been in the habit of 'borrowing' his employer's car on his afternoons off and taking it for a jaunt to the local pub and back.

Which pub was that, the prosecutor (who seemed to be something of a showman) wondered.

The Feathers' at Kirby Moorside.

"And on the fateful day" - intoned the prosecutor ominously - "when you got back behind the wheel, you were sufficiently under the influence of alcohol that you were unable to prevent yourself from crashing, most dangerously, into the bicycle of Master Phillip Strallan."

Owens seemed to stare up into the courtroom for a moment before he replied. Sir Anthony turned his head to follow the defendant's gaze and frowned faintly; Edith touched his sleeve and offered him a quizzical frown. Silently, he shook his head. _Later,_ he mouthed.

"Y-yes, sir. That's what happened."

"And then you compounded your degeneracy with cowardice, Owens, and left the scene of the crime. But that was not the whole of the matter, Your Honour, ladies and gentlemen." The prosecutor paused for theatrical effect. "When he returned to his employer's house, he did not, as any right-thinking citizen might have, confess to what he had done, and ensure that his victim was found in a timely manner. Oh no, he did not. Tell the court what you chose to do instead, Owens."

Owens swallowed thickly, and for a moment, his gaze wavered again from where it had been almost fixed on the prosecuting council, flickering up into the gallery, beyond Edith and Anthony. "I'd smashed a headlight, so I locked the car up in the garage, and told his lordship there was something wrong with her, that I'd need to fix her before he took her out again. And then I changed the headlight, and hid away the broken bits. Thought I'd… get rid of 'em later." He shrugged helplessly. "I didn't mean to hurt the mite. Honest. Just… had a bit too much to drink, and what with the rain and everything…"

* * *

"Can I fetch you a cup of tea, Mrs Crawley?" Sir Anthony asked as they exited the courtroom some forty-five minutes later. For some reason, he sounded almost irritated, and there was none of the usual warmth or humour in his eyes when she stopped to look at him.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"Yes," he bit tightly. "Miscarriages of justice always tend to leave a bad taste in my mouth."

"You don't think he's guilty? But - " She frowned, and he saw her eyes fill with sudden understanding as they passed into the tearoom. "Oh! You can't think… _Mr Grey_?"

"It's a _distinct_ possibility. Did you see that moment, before he answered the prosecuting council about the circumstances of the accident? And then again, later?" Edith nodded wordlessly, and her employer's face set grimly. "Well, I looked, and when he stared up at all of us, who was he looking at but his employer's son?" His lip curled contemptuously. "After all, why take responsibility for your own actions when you have a convenient servant available?"

"That's _despicable!_" Edith whispered, voice shaking furiously. "But… I can't believe that _Lord Merton_ would allow - "

Sir Anthony shook his head and pulled out a chair for her at a small window table. "No, nor I. In fact, I would go so far as to guarantee that Lord Merton has no idea _whatsoever_ about what has occurred here." He sat himself and passed Edith a menu. "If I know Larry Grey, he will have promised poor, foolish Mr Owens generous compensation for his trouble. It's more common than you realise."

Edith barely glanced at the list of cakes before she set the menu aside. "I know Mr Grey is - is reckless and - and irresponsible but… _perverting the course of justice?_ Really?" She frowned, pushing back a loose curl of blonde hair impatiently as she leaned forwards to engage in the discussion. "If he's caught, it'll be at least a year in prison - seven if the retrial judge decides it's perjury instead - not counting the two years for causing the accident in the first place, if it's put under the Offences Against the Person Act again. You know, 'wanton or furious driving'? Of course, I thought there was something more recent in the Motor Car Act but…" She saw Sir Anthony's open-mouthed, admiring expression and broke off, blushing.

"Goodness, my dear, I had no idea you were such an _expert_. Oh, a large pot of tea, please, and some buttered teacakes," he added to the waitress who had just come to take their order.

Edith silently withdrew in her chair, crossing her hands demurely on the table and beginning a study of the tablecloth. _Men_, her grandmother's disapproving voice reminded her in her head, _do _not_ appreciate bluestockings, Edith. _"I'm not, really," she assured him. "But… Papa was a solicitor, don't forget. He never locked up his library. And he rather liked to talk about his work at home - even if his audience _was_ entirely female!" She blinked, startled. "Do you know, that's the first… _nice_ memory I've had of him, since he - since he died?"

Sir Anthony reached across and squeezed her folded hands briefly. "Then I'm glad of it. At least _something_ good has come of today."

"Isn't there _anything_ we can do, sir?"

"I don't see what we _could_ do, I'm afraid." He cast a dirty look back towards the courtroom and reminded Edith in an undertone, as the waitress brought their tea, "It isn't as if we have any evidence, beyond our own suspicions. And that butters no one's bread, as Mrs Cox would say."

Edith clenched her fists in her skirt under the table. "I _hate_ it." Unhappily, she watched Sir Anthony pour her her tea and add in the lone splash of milk she preferred.

"I know, my dear. I'm sorry." He passed her cup across the table. "Now, drink your tea and tell me about the Motor Car Act…"

* * *

"Well," Bertie whistled as they walked along arm-in-arm, "that's _quite_ a story. Like the start of a Sherlock Holmes mystery."

Edith huffed out a laugh. "Yes - but not one that's going to have a happy ending, I'm afraid." They paused briefly so that Bertie could peer critically into a nearby pen of Middle Whites.

"Not like you to be defeatist," Bertie observed, nodding to the farmer in charge of the pen. "No, not at all," he added as he and Edith moved on; for a moment, Edith wasn't sure if he were talking about her or the pigs.

"Well, Sir Anthony says that without any evidence, it's all just… wild surmise. And he's perfectly correct."

Bertie tilted his head thoughtfully. "Then… well, it strikes me that someone should try and _find_ some more evidence. Of course, it'd have to be someone who's good with people, got the right sort of enquiring, curious brain…" He trailed off to scratch the ear of a fat, snuffling Tamworth sow.

Edith propped herself idly against the corner post of the temporary sty. "Oh, yes?" she wondered dryly. "Know anybody I could ask, do you?"

"My _darling_ girl," Bertie drawled, as if it were perfectly obvious. "I'm _talking_ about you."

"_What?_" Edith squeaked in an undertone.

For a moment, Bertie didn't reply; he was too busy getting acquainted with his new porcine friend and her owner. Eventually, when Edith felt about ready to burst with impatience, Bertie shook hands with the farmer, turned away and fixed Edith with a querying look. "Why not you?"

"Because - " Edith stammered. "Because - _because_, that's why."

Bertie snorted. "Wonderful reasoning. Is this important, do you suppose?"

"Well, of course it is!" Edith snapped.

Bertie's broad hand rested against her back as he guided her back through the press of people. "Then - _why not you_?" When Edith did not reply, he sighed. "Come on, I'd like a second look at that Sandy and Black…"

While Bertie negotiated with Mr Jenkins, Edith looked around the little stall he had set up for himself. Under his abandoned chair, was a basket containing a lone, coal-black kitten, a few months' old. Edith bent and scooped up the kitten in her hands before either of the men noticed what she was doing. "He's lovely," she smiled sunnily at Mr Jenkins. "Is he is yours?"

The farmer frowned. "Ar, more's the pity. Thought I'd try to pass him on today." He shook his head and explained, "My mouser dropped a litter of five back in September. Managed to sell off the others, but nobody'll take him. Think he's unlucky, see? Shoulda drowned 'em all right off, but my wife's a soft-hearted young creature…" He shared a knowing look with Bertie. "Ladies, eh, Mr Pelham?"

"_Ohh_," Edith cooed adoringly to the little creature, who was butting his head affectionately against the inside of her elbow and making an odd sort of _brppp_-ing sound low in his throat. "Oh, how could _anyone_ think you're unlucky, hmm, darling?" She glanced back at Mr Jenkins. "His brothers and sisters didn't look like him, then?"

"No, miss." Jenkins shrugged. "Female cats aren't so discerning as human ladies - sometimes they'll mate with more than one tom while they're in heat and - "

"Yes, Jenkins, I don't think Miss Crawley needs to hear about that," Bertie intervened at the faint flush on Edith's cheeks.

"No, I q-quite see," Edith stammered, half-caught between embarrassment and amusement. Decisively, she asked, "How much to take him off your hands?" At Bertie's doubtful look, Edith shrugged. "Mrs Cox would appreciate a mouser. I'm sure she would."

Jenkins chuckled. "A shake of the hand and he's yours, if you really want him, miss."

"So," Bertie pressed, as they walked away from Jenkins and his pigs, the newly-christened 'Buttons' curled up contentedly in Edith's arms, "what about it?" He nudged her playfully. "I'll even help you out, if you like."

Edith stopped, considering. "Come, my dear Watson," she smiled at last, "the game is afoot."


	27. Pubs and Plain Speaking

"I'm off the crutches now," Pip complained, scooping up a spoonful of porridge in disgruntled fashion and tipping it back into the bowl. "_And_ my bicycle's been fixed. I don't see why I can't cycle in to school this morning with Andrew." Resentfully, he stared out at the cold, bright sky.

His father lowered _The Times_ and exhaled in disapproval. "Because I quite like you alive and in one piece, my dear chap - even when you're being frightful. I _will_ drive you to school, and I _will_ be outside the gates at half past four precisely to collect you. Now, finish your breakfast and go and brush your teeth, thank you - and kindly remember that I do not enjoy being forced to repeat myself."

Pip turned pleading eyes onto his last hope, who was currently finishing her cup of tea. "Mrs Crawley, don't _you_ think it's un - "

He got no further. Edith interrupted in a voice that would have quelled a far more disobedient child than Pip. "Oh, don't try nagging me, either, Pip! I _quite_ agree with your father - and if you had any thought for my nerves, then you would too." Casting a sly glance at a still doleful Pip, she added, in tones of perfect innocence, "I _would_ have thought you'd cut a wonderful dash with the other boys, arriving in a Rolls, but perhaps I'm wrong…"

Pip's ears pricked up, like a dog who'd scented a treat. "Oh," he managed eventually, trying to sound off-hand, "well… I _suppose_ I can put up with it for a little while. Just until you two stop fussing."

Setting aside her napkin, Edith rose from the breakfast table with a half-indignant chuckle. "Well, thank you very much, Master Cheek. Now, I simply must get on." On her way past his chair, she dropped a kiss onto the top of Pip's head as her fingers gently tugged his tie straight. "Have a lovely first day back, my dear. I'll see you at teatime."

* * *

_Brrrr-ing! Brrrr-ing!_

Hastily, Edith scribbled a note on the blotter and slotted a piece of paper into the ledger she was currently working on, before lifting an indignant Buttons (curled up sleepily on her lap) onto the desk.

Fortunately the caller had not rung off. "Hello, Locksley Hall, Edith Crawley speaking," Edith answered a little breathlessly.

"Good morning, Mrs Crawley. Claudia Gervas here."

"Oh, Lady Gervas, hello! Sir Anthony's driven Master Pip to school this morning and I'm afraid he isn't back yet. Can I take a message?" As she spoke, Edith hunted around on the telephone table for a pad and pencil.

"Actually, my dear," Lady Gervas reassured her, "I was rather hoping to speak to you. Am I interrupting anything frightfully important?"

"Oh… no," Edith lied. "How can I help?"

"Well, for the last year or so some friends of mine and I have been taking part in a little weekly club. A ladies' motorcar association. Learning to drive them, take care of them, that sort of thing."

"And you need a secretary?" Edith finished for her.

"No, no, my dear." Lady Gervas laughed. "You quite misunderstand. I wondered, well, since you seem like an enterprising young lady, and because it struck me that you mightn't know many people hereabouts… whether you might consider joining us?"

For a moment there was silence and then, "Oh!" Edith managed. "Oh. Well, I don't know. Your other members might not enjoy - I'm sure they're all very - very - "

Lady Gervas interrupted hastily. "We're not at all exclusive, my dear - if that doesn't sound frightfully insulting - and all very nice, I promise. There's Mrs Bentley and her eldest daughter; Jane Montgomery, when the Colonel's leg isn't causing him too much pain; Veronica Orton - I promise she's not as odd as she's made out to be; her friend, Lady Flora Stanhope; me, of course; Miss Hargreaves, the infant school teacher from Grantham village; and your cousin Isobel."

"Cousin Isobel?" Edith blinked, surprised.

"Yes - our grand patroness." Lady Gervas sounded rather excited. "Rather a _coup_, don't you think? I wouldn't ever have thought such a great lady would be so very daring."

Edith smiled at the idea of Cousin Isobel being so underestimated, and Lady Gervas pressed, "Well, what do you say, my dear? Can I persuade you?"

"I don't have a motorcar, Lady Gervas - "

"Oh, very few of us _do_, my dear. We sort of… swap about a bit in Veronica's. And she's an awfully good teacher." Barely pausing, she added, "_Do_ say you will."

"W-when do you meet?" Perhaps motorcars _would_ be rather exciting. And no one Lady Gervas had mentioned sounded terribly intimidating, after all - she had seen Miss Hargreaves in the village: a cheerful brunette who always seemed to have a little huddle of her pupils trailing along with her, even off duty; and Mrs Montgomery had been so kind over the telephone when she had rung at New Year. Mrs Bentley, to be sure, always looked a little severe in church, but with a husband as scatterbrained as the vicar, Edith thought she could hardly be judged too harshly for _that_. Perhaps she would even enjoy herself.

"Friday evenings. Six o'clock until nine, and then sherry at Orton Park afterwards - although don't mention that to Sir Hugh." There was something almost conspiratorial there that made Edith chuckle.

"Al-alright," she agreed. "If you think I can be useful."

"My dear, I'm not inviting you to be _useful_ \- I'm inviting you so that you can have some _fun." _Lady Gervas tutted. "Anthony's a frightfully nice chap, but Locksley is hardly the most exciting place on Earth, is it?"

"But I - " Edith attempted, but Lady Gervas interrupted.

"I'll collect you at a quarter to six on Friday, then, my dear. Must dash. Goodbye!"

As Edith set the telephone down, a little stunned, the front door opened and Sir Anthony strode in. Seeing Edith's somewhat startled expression, he asked, "Awkward telephone call, my dear?"

"What? Oh, no… that was Lady Gervas." Edith shook her head. "She wants me to learn to drive motorcars."

To her surprise, Sir Anthony's face brightened. "Oh, invited you to join her club, has she? What a splendid idea." He grinned. "You'll like them - Veronica Orton's the staunchest suffragist in a fifty mile radius. _Very_ much your style, I think."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Edith laughed, slightly indignantly, as they walked along the library passage together.

Sir Anthony stood back to let her pass through the door first and replied, matter-of-factly, "It means that I think you're a very intelligent woman, my dear."

Returning to her desk, Edith wondered wryly, "And is that just a nice way of saying I'm an irritating little bluestocking?"

Sir Anthony shot her an old-fashioned look. "Good Lord, my dear, if you are, I wish England were filled with them."

Edith bent her head quickly over the ledger again to hide her blushes. "Well, it's only Friday evenings," she pointed out after a minute or so. "It won't take me away from my other duties."

"Nonsense. It'll be useful to have another driver around the place, in case of emergencies. Very sensible idea of Claudia's - I wish I'd thought of it…" He frowned down at his desk and then, apropos of nothing, added, "Well, your Master Buttons is _definitely_ an excellent mouser."

"Oh, wonderful!" Edith smiled brightly up at him. "How do you know?"

Her employer lifted a dry eyebrow and scooped something small up from his desk with ginger fingers. "Because he's left a deceased example of the species on my desk."

* * *

"What are you doing?" Bertie asked, amused, as Edith took a tiny sip of her drink and wrinkled her nose.

"I don't really like ale," she gritted, setting the glass back down some distance away from her. They were seated in the snug of the Feathers' public house in Kirby Moorside, Edith casting surreptitious glances through the open door at the barman, just in her line of sight.

"Then why did you ask for a shandy-gaff?" Bertie blinked, perplexed.

Edith wriggled her shoulders uncomfortably. "I'm trying to seem a bit… _loose_," she muttered. "You know, to the barman. It might help me to get some information out of him if he thinks he can… you know, flirt with me a bit."

Bertie began to laugh, but catching sight of Edith's almost murderous expression, turned it hastily into a cough. "My dear, I don't think that that's going to work."

"It might!" Edith retorted indignantly. "_You_ don't know!"

"I _do_, actually," Bertie apologised. "For one - out of all the drinks in the world, a shandy-gaff is hardly the best choice if you want to seem 'loose', as you put it. For another, you walked in with another man, and there do tend to be rules about… flirting with girls who look spoken for. Even in public houses."

Edith sighed, drumming her fingers on the table. "Well, can't you just… leave, for a bit? Go to the - the - " She blinked appealingly at him, and asked, "Is there an equivalent of a ladies' powder room for men?"

Bertie chuckled. "All right. Five minutes in the gents' - and even that's stretching it. Lord knows what I'll do if someone else walks in. This better pay off."

"Thank you, Bertie. You're a dear."

He gave a long-suffering sigh and walked through the door, nodding cheerfully to the barman as he passed. Edith gave him a few seconds head-start, picked up his empty half-pint glass, and wandered through to the bar.

Propping herself against the counter in what she hoped would be a vaguely alluring manner, she set the glass on the bar and smiled winningly at the young barman. "Another shandy-gaff, please."

Silently, the barman uncovered a jug of ginger ale and filled the glass up half-full before adding the beer. Edith winced and only just managed to fix her smile back on her face as the barman turned back to her. "Penny ha'pence, miss."

Edith drew the coins out of her purse and held them just out of his reach. "I'm Edith," she confided, placing an elbow on the counter and leaning forwards. "What's your name, I wonder?"

Finally a smile, albeit a faint one. "Eddie - _Edith_."

She handed the money over. "Been working here long?"

Eddie, sensing an opportunity, wiped down the counter and threw the towel impressively over his shoulder. "Ages. Family business, see. My dad's the gaffer." He threw out his chest. "Pub'll be mine, one day."

Edith did her best to look suitably impressed. "Your own little empire! So I suppose you know all the regulars."

"Got to, got to," Eddie nodded sagely. "Otherwise, how'd you know who it's all right to serve, and who you have to chuck out straight off?"

Edith _mmm-_ed seriously. "Oh, do you have to do a lot of that? Aren't you ever frightened someone'll turn nasty?" Edith bit her lip. "But of course, a… strong-looking man like you, I don't suppose anyone _dares_ to misbehave."

Eddie preened.

"But I had heard that this was a very nice pub. A friend of mine and her young man come here sometimes - " (Edith gave him a confiding look) " - and she says that you and your father run things _very _well."

"Really?" Eddie asked, taking up a casual pose himself. "Who's that then?"

Inwardly Edith took a breath. "John Owens. Lord Merton's chauffeur."

"Oh, yeah, Johnnie's a regular, all right." He winked at Edith. "Likes a spot of ale, does Johnnie. More than a spot, if you get my drift."

Edith feigned a sorrowful shake of her head. "Yes, my friend told me. I think they came in last on the twelfth of December."

Eddie frowned. "Twelfth, you say? Can't have."

Edith's heart leapt. "Oh? Wh-what makes you say that?"

"Well, that was the day my sister had her little'un. They live here, her and her husband, and Dad said the sound of her screaming upstairs'd put everyone off their pints. So we weren't open then."

"And… you're sure that was the twelfth?"

Eddie gave her a look. "Trust me, if you'd been here, you'd be sure as well." He shuddered. "Sounded something 'orrible, it did - like someone being murdered."

"Eddie!" a gruff voice called from the back room. "Man from brewery's here with the delivery - come and make yourself useful!"

"Coming, Dad!" Eddie called back. He cast a shy grin at Edith. "Well, p'raps I'll see you again."

Edith smiled. "Yes. Thanks for the drink."

As Eddie vanished down the passage, Bertie appeared next to her. "Well? Any good?"

"Better than good," Edith told him. "Come on, I don't think I can stomach pretending to drink another one."

* * *

The young sandy-haired man was very handsome, Doris thought, peering through the cake display to ogle him. It wasn't often you had a chance at watching a dandy like that, and a girl was allowed to dream, wasn't she? And he'd been looking at his pocket watch ever since he came in, poor soul. Perhaps some girl was giving him the knock. Doris shook her head in disapproval at this imaginary hussy, just as the bell rang and the teashop door swung inwards.

The dark-haired beauty who entered glanced around for a moment before catching side of the sandy-haired gentleman. Her whole face seemed to brighten and she hurried over. He lurched to his feet, his chair squeaking a little on the floor, and seized her gloved hand tightly. His blue eyes - Doris swooned a little - filled with a intensity of expression that suggested he would have liked an even more effusive greeting, but both of them restrained themselves and the woman sat down opposite him.

"How long can you stay?" the gentleman asked as Doris delivered another cup to their table.

"Four at the very latest," the beauty replied, her voice crisp and almost cool. "We're dining at Grandmama's this evening, and you know what a stickler she is."

"And you'll have to round everyone else up," the gentleman nodded a little sadly. "I know." As if attempting humour, he added, "Can't have you being scolded by Cousin Violet."

The woman ignored that. "How's Lavinia?" she asked instead.

Over the clink of china as she set down two soup bowls on the table next to them, Doris heard the gentleman reply. _Mmm, voice as delicious as the face_…

"Fine." There was a pause, and then he elaborated, "Got over the initial queasiness. Healthy as a horse, according to Clarkson."

"I'm glad. You must both be… terribly excited." The _woman_ didn't sound excited at all, Doris thought. In fact, she sounded thoroughly _un_excited.

"Yes. We are." And that was odd, because the gentleman didn't sound excited either. As if with an effort, he asked, "How's Richard?"

"Oh, working some late hours just now," the woman said, sounding almost falsely bright. "We're ships that pass in the night, really. You know how he gets when there's a big story in the offing."

"Mary… " the gentleman breathed, low and intense. "I didn't invite you here so that we could talk about our spouses."

Refilling table eight's teapot with hot water, Doris heard Mary's brittle, too-high laugh. "Golly, Matthew, that sounds rather ominous."

"Don't - don't joke," Matthew swallowed. "Not just now."

"Matthew - "

"Are you happy, Mary? Really, _honestly_ happy?" He paused and Doris held her breath. "Because I'm not. Not really. I haven't been happy since before that day at Cadogan Square when you turned me down." _Golly,_ thought Doris, _better than a novel!_ "And the _only_ bright spots in my dull, _stultifying_ life," Matthew murmured, sounding almost close to tears, "are these odd afternoons, when I can steal away and spend just a few hours in your company. Mary - "

A company of giggling secretaries out for lunch entered at that moment, drowning out whatever Matthew had been about to add, and Doris had to hurry to take their orders, and by the time she had finished and turned around, 'Matthew' and 'Mary' had both left.


	28. The Ripon Ladies' Motorcar Association

"Well, it's a start," Bertie agreed as they walked away down the street.

"What do you mean - 'it's a start'?" Edith asked, sounding thoroughly outraged. "I've just shot the whole case full of holes and all you can say is '_it's a start'_?!"

"My dear, all you've done is proved that Owens wasn't drinking at the Feathers' on the twelfth." Bertie opened the car door for her and waited for her to slide in. "Of course, you're _far_ too nice a girl to know this, but when a chap gets squiffy, sometimes he can't even remember his own name, let alone the public house in which he's been drinking. The prosecution will say he just… misremembered."

Edith's face fell. "You're right of course," she muttered at last. "So what are we going to do?"

"Well, Holmes," Bertie suggested as his car trundled off down the road, "knowing your fondness for shandy-gaffs - not to mention your hitherto unsuspected talents as regards impressionable young barmen - I think our only option is to do a thorough investigation of all the public houses in the area."

"Oh, _goody_," Edith deadpanned.

* * *

"Pleasant afternoon off?" Sir Anthony asked as Edith entered the library, tugging her gloves off. "You're back just in time for tea. Pour you a cup?"

"Yes, thank you, sir." Sitting down on the other side of Sir Anthony's desk, she said, "We… ended up going to the Feathers', at Kirby Moorside."

Sir Anthony frowned, his hand halfway to the milk jug, and looked up at her. "Isn't that…"

"…The pub where Mr Owens said he'd been drinking, the day he was supposed to have hit Pip," Edith finished, looking slightly bashful. "Yes. And… well, the thing is, he _couldn't_ have been."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The pub was closed that day," Edith explained as he carefully poured tea into her cup. "And… Bertie - Mr Pelham - says we should check the other pubs in the area first but… it's a start, isn't it?"

Anthony's eyes softened. Funny, wasn't it? His secretary could be so forthright and assertive and _magnificent_ sometimes, and then occasionally, there would be that sudden flash of insecurity in her eyes or her voice…

"It is indeed," he reassured her warmly. "I had no idea you were… investigating. You've really got the bit between your teeth about this, haven't you?"

"I have, a bit." She took a sip of her tea, and noticed that Sir Anthony was looking suddenly troubled. "Sir? Have I - "

"Just… _be careful_," he implored. "Because _nothing_ is worth your putting yourself into harm's way, do you understand?" His voice was serious and rather intense and Edith felt a pit of warmth open up in her tummy. Really, he was terribly sweet. Sometimes, she wished he wouldn't be; it made it _so_ much harder to feel anything for Bertie beyond affectionate friendship when Sir Anthony was feeding her brain with so many lovely little moments to cherish.

"I promise I won't do anything silly, sir," she whispered.

"Good," he answered firmly. "I'd have the devil of a time replacing you, you know."

"Oh, how terribly flattering!" Edith retorted, but looking at him properly for the first time, she couldn't help smiling. "Do you know you've got a cat around your neck, sir?" Buttons was indeed coiled around his shoulders, head nuzzling Anthony's right ear, his tail twitching slowly against his left shoulder. A low purring was coming from deep in his throat, and he looked thoroughly contented.

Sir Anthony shrugged a little sheepishly. "The little chap seemed to have got himself comfortable, so I just… left him where he was."

"Well, don't let Pip catch you," Mrs Crawley twinkled at him over the rim of her teacup. "It'll utterly destroy _any_ chance you have of playing the stern, forbidding papa."

Sir Anthony's face fell. "Was I _terribly_ cruel to him this morning, do you think?"

Edith blinked, astonished, and started to laugh. "No! You were absolutely right - those roads aren't safe for _anyone_ to be bicycling on, let alone young boys." She shook her head. "'Terribly cruel'… you've really no idea how awful some parents are, have you, sir?"

"I just… wonder, sometimes," he sighed heavily. "When… when my wife was alive, she… tended to manage all of the… emotional side of things. I was more in the discipline line." He shot Edith a dry look. "You know, 'just you wait until your Papa hears about this', that sort of thing?"

Edith nodded mutely, encouraging him to continue.

"And now…" He huffed out a slightly bitter laugh. "Well, I'm judge, jury, executioner _and_ chief wound stauncher, all rolled into one. I wonder sometimes whether I'm not putting in a pretty poor showing."

"I don't," Edith offered quietly. "I don't at all. No one who sees you together could ever think that. He isn't… missing anything, you know, and if you ask me, I think you do very nicely with the… 'emotional side of things.' And Pip knows it, too." She glanced at the clock. "Although, if you don't leave now, sir, you won't be in Ripon by half past four."

With an alarmed expression, Sir Anthony followed her gaze. "Lord, you're right." He stood quickly. "Thank you, my dear."

"Whatever for?"

"Oh… for keeping me up to the mark, as ever." He ducked his head apologetically. "For… letting me ramble on at you."

Edith shook her head. "Not at all. Always a willing ear, sir."

Sir Anthony smiled softly in thanks and turned. He was halfway to the door when Edith called, "Sir?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Um… you still have…" She motioned vaguely towards his shoulders and Anthony closed his eyes comically.

"…A cat on my shoulders. Yes, thank you." Gently lifting Buttons down, he passed him into Edith's gentle hands. "Ready?"

"Yes, just… one moment…" With her free hand, Mrs Crawley reached up and brushed a few black hairs from the shoulders of his jacket. This done, her hand swept casually across his collarbone and down, smoothing the lapel. "There. Perfect." She stepped back and Sir Anthony blinked at her for a few moments.

"Right. Jolly good." For some reason, he sounded somehow… distracted. "I'll… see you soon."

"Yes. Drive safely, sir."

* * *

"Edith," Veronica Orton winced over the groaning, screeching complaints of her car, "it tends to help if you put the clutch down _before_ you try to change gear…"

Friday night had wheeled around rather quickly. It had, after all, been a rather busy week; the quarterly rents had had to be collected, and the paperwork arranged for renewing some tenants' leases. Mr Forrester, a wizened, balding little man with kind eyes and a reedy voice, who had been the Strallan solicitor for two generations, came down from Town to help them see to it all, and Edith had found herself buried under a solid mound of typing for two days. Forrester also brought with him a large box of paperwork from Sir Anthony's father's time - mainly concerning the estate - which Sir Anthony had wanted to have filed away in the family archive, and that had taken up the rest of the week. Several documents, in Sir Phillip's almost indecipherable hand, had had to be set aside entirely to await the next visit of Lady Strallan. "She was the only one who could ever read his writing," Sir Anthony had sighed. "While he was alive, he dictated a lot of the important stuff to her, so that the uninitiated might at least stand half a chance at understanding what it said."

Friday evening, therefore, had found her rather exhausted. She had been unsure about whether or not to telephone Lady Gervas and cry off, had wondered aloud about it over dinner, but Sir Anthony had simply heaped a second helping of Mrs Cox's beef stew onto her plate and cajoled, "You'll have a splendid time when you get there. A few hours off might be just the ticket to buck you up." More seriously, he added, "You've worked terribly hard this week. Don't cancel your treat."

At this moment, however, Edith was sorely regretting allowing him to persuade her. "I'm _trying_!" she protested as another horrible, raw screeching sound emitted from the general direction of the engine. "It just… won't… _go!_"

"My dear," Claudia Gervas intervened kindly from the back seat, as the car lurched forwards with a judder along Veronica's long, circular driveway, "you wrangle Anthony every day - are you really going to let yourself be defeated by a silly old machine?"

Edith couldn't help smiling. She exhaled, and allowed her shoulders to relax from where they had stiffened somewhere around her ears. "I don't… _wrangle_ Sir Anthony, my lady."

"I'm quite sure that you don't, my dear," Veronica agreed reassuringly. "Strallan's always struck me as a quiet and… _biddable_ sort of man." Edith looked sideways at her; a mischievous smile was tugging at the corner of Veronica's mouth. She permitted herself a small chuckle. Quietly, slightly reprovingly, Edith corrected her. "He's a very _kind_ sort of man, actually, and very nice to work for."

In the back of the car, unnoticed by either of her fellow drivers, Claudia Gervas's eyes twinkled.

* * *

Sherry afterwards, Edith had to admit, was more fun, and gave her time to recover her equilibrium after the terror of being put in charge of three tonnes of metal. It was also her first chance to meet many of her fellow members, everyone having been split up for the majority of the evening so far. The club had been lucky enough to have _three_ motorcars that evening - Veronica's, of course; one from Downton brought by Isobel and her admittedly rather anxious chauffeur; and the one belonging to the only other experienced driver amongst them, Lady Flora Stanhope. She was only an occasional member, Lady Gervas explained, a dear friend of Veronica's and a frequent visitor at Orton Park, but always willing to chip in whenever she was in Yorkshire.

Veronica had settled them all into her library - "_Much_ warmer than the drawing room," she'd explained to Edith on their way in - and supplied them all with drinks from a tantalus on the sideboard, and then everyone had settled down to a nice comfortable gossip. "How do you like Veronica?" Lady Gervas asked Edith under the babble of chatter.

"Well, I don't think I've ever met anyone more patient," Edith grinned dryly.

"Oh, yes, she's wonderful with people," Claudia nodded to the sofa, where Veronica was wedged in between Miss Hargreaves and Mrs Montgomery, her dark head bobbing as she talked animatedly. "I'm sometimes amazed that she's content to live here all alone."

"She doesn't have any other family?"

"No, poor dear. Her mother died when she was a small child, and her father five years ago - not even any cousins, or anything like that. Of course, the baronetcy died with him, but Veronica inherited Orton Park and the rest of the estate, and a wonderful job she makes of it." Lady Gervas shook her head. "She ought to marry, really - after all, she's a catch in anyone's book - her father left her as rich as Croesus." She frowned, and added, "Although that may be why she's in no hurry to settle down."

Mrs Bentley, on Edith's other side, leaned around. "It'll take a very particular sort of man to tempt our Veronica," she agreed. "How many husbands want a wife who spends half her time at suffragist rallies, and the other wandering around the countryside in breeches, mucking out stables and Lord knows what else?"

Claudia snorted in amusement. "True. Men can be _such_ cowards sometimes, don't you think, Mrs Crawley?"

Before Edith could reply, there was a sudden surge in volume of the conversation going on across the room. "Oh, you must be _so_ excited!" Jane Montgomery seemed to do everything with such _enthusiasm_, Edith thought wryly. Really, poor Colonel Montgomery must spend most of his life in a perpetual state of exhaustion.

"Oh. Yes." Flora Stanhope, on the other hand, was rather shy and demure - and Edith thought that the faint smile she cast in Mrs Montgomery's direction did not quite reach her eyes.

"And what a _corker_ of an engagement ring! You're so _lucky_!" sighed Miss Bentley enviously, tilting Flora's hand to and fro under the light so that the large, imposing emerald and its border of diamonds sparkled.

"It's rather heavy, really," Flora replied, sounding almost strained. "It was my fiancé's grandmother's. He insisted."

"Rather romantic, though," Miss Bentley pressed as Veronica stood suddenly and walked over to the drinks' cabinet. "When did he propose? What did he _say_?_"_

"Oh, you know… just… asked me," Flora shrugged. "We've known each other for… oh, absolutely forever. Grew up together, practically, so… there wasn't much to be said, when it came down to it." Her eyes flickered briefly to where Veronica was pouring herself another whisky, and then away again.

"You'll have to forgive my daughter, Lady Flora," intervened Mrs Bentley. "She's at that unfortunate romantic stage."

"So how are you planning to spend your last month of freedom, my dear?" teased Lady Gervas.

Flora went red. "Very quietly. It was… really very lovely of Veronica to offer to have me to stay this week. And… after the wedding, I doubt I'll be able to come to Yorkshire quite so often, so I'm going on to visit some other friends afterwards. George - my fiancé - spends most of his time in London, or on his father's estate."

"He's an MP, isn't he?" Miss Hargreaves asked politely.

"Yes. The Conservative seat in Ashford, in Kent - near where both our families live."

"Well, you're very organised, I must say," Claudia pronounced. "_I_ still had a thousand and one things to do even a _week_ before Hugh and I got married!"

"We've planned a very simple ceremony," Flora replied quietly. "Neither of us… really wanted a fuss. George's family is very small, and… my mother hasn't been well recently. We… didn't want to overwhelm her."

"And are _you_ going down to London for the wedding, Veronica?" Isobel asked cheerfully.

At the fireside, Veronica paused for a long moment. "No, Lady Grantham," she answered, rather more carefully than Edith thought the question warranted. "A shame, but… it can't be helped. I've got rather a lot of estate business on at the moment."

The conversation turned to some cattle Veronica was contemplating buying, and the jumble sale Mrs Bentley was organising, and the preparations that were happening up at the Abbey for the arrival of the Countess's first baby, and before Edith knew it, the clock had struck a quarter to eleven.

"Lady Gervas?" Baines, Veronica's butler, knocked politely on the door. "Sir Hugh is waiting outside."

"Oh, thank you, Baines." Claudia smiled at the assembled group. "That's mine and Edith's cue, I'm afraid, my dears. Hugh's an utter bear when he's kept waiting."

"Nice evening, my darling?" Sir Hugh asked, kissing Claudia's cheek as he opened her car door for her.

"Yes - Flora Stanhope's getting married next month." Claudia's brow furrowed. "Although, she didn't sound awfully happy, for some reason."

Hugh came around the car and opened Edith's door for her too. "Well, plenty of girls get the jitters before the big day," he shrugged sagely. "And how did you find them, Mrs Crawley? Did you manage to hold your own, or did they talk you to death?"

Edith blushed, and Claudia rolled her eyes. "Oh, just ignore him, Edith dear." Fondly, she ran a hand down Hugh's arm. "I do, all the time…"


	29. Holmes and Watson Again

"Thank you, very much, for your help." Edith gave the latest in a long line of barmen a dazzling smile, hooked her arm through Bertie's and steered them out of the _Green Dragon_ onto Ripon's High Street.

"You have to admit," she told him, "my theory's looking more and more likely. That's four other pubs we've checked now, besides the _Feathers_, and none of them saw our man on the day of the acci - what is it?"

Bertie, who had been staring in a somewhat unfocused manner at her, jumped a little and gave her a faint smile. "Oh, nothing… just… you're looking frightfully pretty today."

It was true; not just flattery. It was a cold but cheerful day, rare for late January, and the early afternoon sunlight was sparking off Edith's hair, making it look even more coppery than usual. The brisk walking pace that Edith always set, coupled with the chill in the air, had brought a rosy flush to her cheeks, and there was a purposeful glimmer in her eyes that reminded Bertie just how clever and determined his companion was. At his words, however, Edith gave him a rather severe look. "Please, Watson, _do_ keep your mind on the job."

His smile deepened mischievously. "All right, my darling Holmes." Checking his pocket watch, he added, before Edith could expostulate with him further, "What about a spot of lunch before we carry on? Can't investigate on empty stomachs, now, can we?"

Edith's face softened; breakfast seemed a distance memory. "All right. I suppose it'll do us good to sit down and make a plan for the rest of the afternoon."

Over soup and sandwiches, Bertie asked, "How did you end up in Yorkshire? What with all the rest of your family being down in London, it's unusual."

Edith swallowed her mouthful before replying. "I… don't like London much. And… I needed a job and I wasn't particular about where it was."

"And Sir Anthony's your first situation?"

"My second." Her voice was somewhat quieter.

"Didn't get along with the first one?"

"At first I did. Afterwards… well, I was rather glad to leave his employ."

"Unreasonable fellow, was he?"

"You could say that." Seeking to turn the conversation, Edith wondered, "What about you?"

Bertie grinned. "Herbert Henry Pelham, educated Charterhouse School and the Royal Military College Sandhurst, thereafter a Second Lieutenant in the Northumberland Fusiliers, promoted to Lieutenant 1908. Left the Army January 1912 and came to work for the 8th Earl of Grantham as his land agent. No siblings, and a widowed mother who lives in Halifax." Bertie hesitated, and then, with the air of a man confessing a great crime, added, "Also heir presumptive to his cousin, Peter Pelham, 6th Marquess of Hexham."

Edith dropped her spoon.

"How did I - why didn't you - is he - ?" She seemed incapable of forming complete sentences. Eventually, she exhaled loudly and asked, "Whyever didn't you _say_ something?"

Bertie shrugged. "Well… when a chap tells a girl he's possibly in the firing line for ten thousand acres, she does one of two things: runs a mile or starts flirting outrageously in the hopes that he'll tie her to the post next to him."

"And which," Edith wondered archly, "do you think I'll try?"

Bertie chuckled sheepishly. "Would it be frightfully ungentlemanly of me to say that I hope it's the latter?"

His hand crept across the table to cover Edith's, who blushed and looked away - straight into the face of Lady Fyfe.

"Mrs Crawley," she drawled, "what a surprise. And Mr Pelham too."

Edith pulled her hand swiftly away from Bertie's; there was something nasty in Lady Fyfe's smile. "Hello, my lady."

"However is Sir Anthony managing without you, my dear?" Her ladyship's smile became slyer and nastier. "Every time I see him, he seems to be telling me how indispensable you are."

Edith forced a politely bland expression on to her face. "He's much too kind."

"Oh, yes. I'm fully aware of that." Lady Fyfe shook her head. "It's always been darling Anthony's fatal flaw."

Bertie, who had been watching the exchange with the air of one who did not quite understand what was happening in front of him, stood and extended his arm to Edith. "Well, I really think we must be getting along. Please excuse us, Lady Fyfe."

Edith took his arm and let him guide her away; inside she was broiling. 'Darling Anthony' - who on earth did she think she was, to be speaking about Sir Anthony so informally in front of his employee? And what had all that nonsense about 'fatal flaws' meant? Horrid woman!

"Phew," Bertie breathed as they stepped back out into the sunlight. "I don't think Lady Fyfe likes you at all, my dear."

Edith rolled her eyes. "Well, Lord knows why. I've barely exchanged twenty words with her since we met."

Bertie frowned lightly down at her. "If it didn't sound so damned odd, my dear… I'd say she seemed jealous of you, for some reason."

"Oh, yes. The rich, titled widow must find an awful lot to envy about my life!" Edith joked.

"Well…" Bertie began, a long, drawn-out syllable, "she does seem to have rather a soft spot for Sir Anthony. And he… well, from what you've said, _he_ seems to have a bit of a soft spot for _you_."

Edith gave a surprised laugh. "Oh, don't be silly, Bertie! He's just an exceptionally nice man. We… get on well together, that's all. Like you and Cousin Matthew."

"But _I'm_ not an exceptionally beautiful young woman who sits under your cousin's nose every day," Bertie pointed out gently.

"He doesn't think of me like that!" Edith protested. "She hasn't any reason to be jealous." Shaking her head, she added flatly, "Give it a year and I wouldn't be at all surprised if she were walking down the aisle with him." Briskly, she looked at her watch. "Now, do we have time to get to the _Saracen's Head_, do you think? I'm due back at four."

* * *

"More tea, Lady Fyfe?" Lady Grantham asked.

"Thank you, Lavinia, my dear." Ginny looked around the drawing room. "So nice of you to invite us all, especially when you're in such an interesting condition."

Lavinia gave a sweet, blushing smile, her hand hovering over the slight bump in her dress. Lady Gervas squeezed her elbow fondly. "How are you feeling, my dear?"

"Oh, quite all right now that I'm not so queasy!" Lavinia laughed.

"Mmm, that's always rather horrid, I'm afraid," Claudia agreed. "And how is dear Matthew coping? Hugh was a bundle of nerves when I was having all our girls."

"Oh, you know Matthew - my darling tower of strength. In fact," Lavinia confided, "I've sent him off to London for a couple of days. He's been invited to a sort of last hoorah with some old school chums, before the burdens of fatherhood hit."

"Always wise," Jane Montgomery nodded. "The stronger sex seem to go utterly to pieces once their nursery starts filling up. Take William, for instance - "

"Well, my dear Jane," sighed Claudia rather wickedly, "we both had the misfortune to marry men who adore their children. No doubt if we'd chosen cold-hearted brutes, we wouldn't have had this problem."

The door opened and the Dowager Countess entered, pulling off her gloves as she did. "Oh, my dears, you must forgive my being so late. No one ever mentions how much charity committees seem to run on…"

"Tea, Isobel?" asked Lavinia, hand hovering over the pot.

"No, thank you, darling." Isobel joined them on the sofa. "If I have one more cup, I shall burst, I think. Now, what are we all gossiping about?"

"The weakness of the stronger sex," Claudia informed her dryly. "Lavinia was just telling us about Matthew's London jaunt."

"Oh, yes," the Dowager smiled. "Matthew _does_ enjoy London - well, you both do, don't you, Lavinia? He always seems to come back… refreshed." There was silence as all the ladies contemplated for a moment the joys of the Metropolis.

"I suppose," Lady Fyfe broke the silence, "that it's just lucky that he has so many people here to look after you while he's away, Lavinia, my dear. Isobel, Mrs Hughes, dear old Carson, and… oh, what's his land agent's name again? The young chap? Perry? Perkins?"

"Mr Pelham," corrected Isobel. "Yes, we're very pleased with him. Such a clever young man, and very pleasant too. And it does Matthew good to have another fellow about the place, too, doesn't it, Lavinia?"

"Oh, yes!" agreed Lavinia. "He and Matthew are as thick as thieves!"

"He seems to be getting on rather well with your cousin, too, Isobel," added Lady Fyfe thoughtfully. "You know, Anthony Strallan's secretary? I saw them lunching together today in Ripon."

"Oh, Edith? Yes, I thought they were getting on well at Christmas," Isobel beamed.

"Miss Crawley strikes me as the sort of girl who could get on well with simply _anyone._" This from Claudia Gervas. "Wouldn't you agree, Jane?"

"Quite right!" agreed Jane firmly. "At the motorcar club, she was perfectly…" She trailed off at an alarmed look from Isobel and all four ladies looked rather sheepishly at Lady Fyfe.

"Motorcar club?" she echoed sweetly. "Some new venture of yours, Claudia?"

"Veronica Orton's, actually," Claudia replied shortly. "Just a little Friday night gathering, Ginny."

"Oh, how _exciting_ it would be," Lady Fyfe simpered. "Gliding down the road, driving one's own motorcar…"

"Yes, it is rather," Isobel agreed.

There was silence for a moment, and then Jane Montgomery - who had been the focus of Ginny's rather pathetically pleading expression - burst out, "You must come with us this Friday, Virginia. I'm sure Veronica wouldn't mind another pupil - she's been a little glum recently, for some reason."

"Oh, what fun!" beamed Ginny. "And how kind of you to think of me. Has Miss Crawley been a member of your club for very long?"

"No," Isobel shook her head. "A very recent member. A lovely girl. And after all the unhappiness she's had over the last few years - her father dying so suddenly, you know - well, she quite deserves to be happy." She chewed a bite of a finger sandwich thoughtfully, and then added, "Of course, Bertie would be a very good match for her. He's a very kind young man - and frightfully well connected."

"Goodness," Claudia interrupted. "Isobel, you make the poor boy sound like a telephone."

Polite laughter from the other ladies. "But seriously," Isobel pressed, when they had quietened, "he _is_. You'd never think it to look at him, but if his cousin Peter doesn't marry - which isn't likely, from what I hear - then Bertie Pelham will be the next Marquess of Hexham."

"Is he really?" Lady Fyfe lifted her eyebrows in an expression of vague interest. "Still waters, I suppose.

Isobel shook her head thoughtfully. "A brilliant match for _any_ girl."

"Yes," Claudia murmured, somewhat unhappily. "Terribly brilliant."


	30. Snakebite

**AN: This last week, I returned joyously to my natural habitat - my classroom :) Updates may be slow while I get my new crop of lovelies settled in...**

* * *

"I really feel I should telephone Sir Hugh," Sir Anthony said to Edith over breakfast the following Friday, "and offer to give you and Claudia a lift to Orton Park and back tonight. He's done the last fortnight, after all - I should share the burden with him."

"Is it true Veronica Orton wears breeches and has her hair cut like a man's?" Pip wondered.

"No to the hair, yes to the breeches - and in this house, we don't address ladies we don't know by their Christian names," Edith replied crisply, refilling his teacup as she spoke.

"All right," Pip acknowledged, and drained the cup in one, "can I come and meet Miss Orton, then?"

"No," Edith repeated, perhaps a little louder than strictly necessary, "because your Papa oughtn't to have to bother driving me about across the countryside." That conversation with Bertie the other day, not to mention the encounter with Lady Fyfe, had _shaken _her somehow; ever since, she had been watching every conversation, every interaction, with Sir Anthony with the keen analytical eye of a scientist, searching for any hidden meaning in anything he said or did. It had left her on edge, wondering whether she was being wilfully blind - what Bertie or Lady Fyfe or - heaven forfend! - anyone else saw in their relationship that she herself could not see. And all through it, Sir Anthony had remained maddeningly polite and kind and _normal_.

And now there was this talk of lifts to the car club! _I should share the burden with him_. Almost as if he were her - Edith shied away from that thought and the word towards which it was dragging her. "I can walk," she announced, "if you think it's becoming an inconvenience to Sir Hugh."

"There and back, in the pitch-dark?" Sir Anthony's voice was firm. "I think _not_, Mrs Crawley."

Pip set down his spoon next to his empty porridge bowl. "May I be excused, Papa?"

His father nodded briefly, a faint smile on his face. At the door, Pip asked, "So are we going to Orton Park or not?"

"Yes," Sir Anthony replied, at the same time as Mrs Crawley insisted, "No!"

With a grin - it was funny to see Mrs C. get cross with Papa, after all - Pip went to brush his teeth.

"Really," Edith continued as the door shut behind him, "I'd be perfectly safe."

"And if your brother-in-law, or your cousin heard you saying such nonsensical things," Sir Anthony asked lightly, "what would they say?" He stood when Edith did. "My dear girl, you live under my roof, in my employ. That means that I have certain obligations towards you - one of which is to ensure your safety. I'm afraid that precludes allowing you to walk alone along badly lit, badly paved roads in the middle of the night." A wry smile crept on to his face. "Enjoy being chauffeured while you can, hmm? Because I promise faithfully that once you're a competent motorist, I'll be taking advantage of the fact at every available opportunity."

Edith gave him a reluctant smile. "I don't like to be a nuisance," she admitted at last.

"No one could accuse you of _that_, my dear. I'll go and telephone Hugh, shall I?"

"If you insist, sir."

"I do, Mrs Crawley. I most _certainly_ do."

* * *

"Well, Mrs Crawley seems to have settled in beautifully," Claudia murmured to Anthony. Behind them, in the back seat, Edith was engrossed in listening to a spirited recital of Pip's day at school. Claudia saw Anthony's eyes flick briefly, fondly, behind his shoulder at them, before he agreed, in an undertone, "Yes. She has. She's been… invaluable."

"And she's terribly sweet, too," Claudia mused.

Anthony tutted. "My, my. First Ginny, now Mrs Crawley - is no unmarried woman in the county safe from your matchmaking, Claudia, my dear?"

Claudia shook her head. "You're - " She stopped, lowering her voice, and glanced quickly over her shoulder as Pip and Mrs Crawley let out a united shout of laughter at something one or the other of them had said. "Anthony, darling, you aren't getting any younger."

"Have you been talking to my mother?" he returned dryly.

"When Pip flies the nest, you won't want to be alone," Claudia warned him, a little wistfully. "Hugh and I often say how empty the house feels now that all the girls are gone."

Anthony turned into Orton Park's drive. "So I should marry some poor girl for my own convenience, is that what you think?"

"Of _course_ not - but if you ask me… well, it would be for _her_ convenience too. She seems to speak so highly of you - and Pip worships the ground she walks on. And she won't want to be a secretary forever, I shouldn't think."

With a sigh, Anthony drew the car to a halt outside the manor park's front door. Without replying, he got out and opened the doors for the ladies. "Have a lovely evening, both of you."

* * *

"How lucky you are, Mrs Crawley, that you have such an understanding employer! Not only letting you join a club like this, but driving you about too." Lady Fyfe took a sip of her sherry through pursed lips and added, in a quieter, biting voice, "One rather wonders who serves whom."

Veronica scowled. She had, for some reason, been terse all evening. "Oh, be _quiet_, Virginia," she snapped suddenly. "If you can't say anything pleasant, then for God's sake don't speak at all!"

All other conversation stopped immediately, the other ladies astonished at such an outburst from Veronica, who was usually so mild-mannered. Edith exchanged brief, surprised glances with Lady Gervas and Mrs Montgomery, before her eyes slid to Lady Fyfe. Her face had gone suddenly very red, and her eyes flashed venomously in Edith's direction. She took a shuddering breath and then, with effort, she controlled herself. "My apologies, Veronica."

Veronica stood briskly and poured herself another whisky - a double, Edith noted. Claudia went to her side. "Are you quite all right, my dear?" Edith heard her ask quietly.

Veronica nodded tightly. "Fine. Just a bit out of sorts."

"Have you thought any more about going to Flora's wedding?" Claudia wondered. "Perhaps the trip to London would cheer you up."

Veronica let out a bitter, almost tearful little laugh. "Oh, trust me, Claudia, that's the very _last_ thing in the world that would cheer me up…"

"Miss Crawley?" Baines announced at the door. "Sir Anthony is here for you and Lady Gervas." And then, behind Baines, swathed in a thick wool overcoat, was Sir Anthony himself, cheeks red with cold.

"Good evening, ladies. Forgive the intrusion." His eyes scanned the room, lit on Edith (tucked between Mrs Montgomery and Miss Bentley), and brightened. "I'm not too early, I hope?"

Edith blushed. "No, not at all, sir."

"No," agreed Mrs Bentley smilingly. "Just far more efficient than any of _our_ menfolk, Sir Anthony."

Edith rose, going even redder. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Veronica."

Veronica smiled faintly, but her eyes were still sad and distant. "Not at all. We'll work on your steering next time, Edith - you're still drifting when you change gear." Looking over Edith's shoulder, she said, "Baines, fetch Lady Gervas's and Miss Crawley's coats, would you?"

As Edith and Claudia were surrounded by a cluster of their fellow club-members, Ginny sidled up to Anthony's side. "It's nice that your Mrs Crawley is making friends, isn't it?"

Anthony nodded. "Yes, I suppose it is." He gestured towards the little group. "Claudia's taken her under her wing somewhat, I think, and it's doing her good. Bringing her out of her shell."

"And not just Claudia," Ginny added wryly. "I hear Bertie Pelham's taking something of a keen interest in her." She touched his arm teasingly. "So you aren't the only one to have noticed her pretty face."

Anthony decided to ignore that. Instead, he agreed, "He's a decent chap."

"And she's making a very sensible choice, too."

"Oh?" he frowned. "In what way?"

"Well," Ginny chuckled, "the chance of being a marchioness isn't to be sniffed at." A little more quietly, almost as if she hadn't intended him to hear, "And one can hardly say that she isn't putting the work in to secure him."

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I don't quite understand." Anthony turned his head to catch her eye. "The chance of being a marchioness?"

"Isobel Crawley told me that he's the heir presumptive to Lord Hexham. You know, the Marquess of Hexham?" Ginny shook her head wonderingly. "No, I admire her for it. She really is _very_ clever, Anthony."

"Yes," he managed through numb lips. "Yes, she is."

And then Edith was gliding towards them with Lady Gervas. She put out her hand and shook with Ginny, most civilly, and then Anthony found himself ushering her and Claudia out of the library and into the icy air again, holding the car doors for them in silence.

_The Marquess of Hexham. Bertie Pelham, heir to the Marquess of Hexham._

* * *

Much later, alone in his library, the same thought was still rattling around his brain._ The Marquess of Hexham. _Bertie Pelham, heir to the _Marquess of Hexham._ In all of Anthony's heady daydreams, all of his imaginings of some undefined someday when he might somehow induce Mrs Crawley to… to… - well, in any case, _that_ had been his sole advantage over Bertie Pelham. At least he had wealth and a title and property - more than a simple estate manager might have.

And instead, when it came to it, Pelham had him beaten there as well. If there hadn't been such an obvious spring in Mrs Crawley's step every time she met with him, it would have sickened him. Ginny had been wrong there, in any case; his secretary wasn't being calculating at all. The girl wasn't capable of such deception. She truly _liked_ the chap. And why wouldn't she? He seemed pleasant enough, and from the way he was behaving, it wasn't a stretch to infer that he adored her - and she'd had little enough of that in her life, God knew.

Next to ten thousand acres and elevation into the highest ranks of the British aristocracy, what could he offer her?


	31. A Poor, Unfortunate Girl

**AN: A few chapters ago, I used the line "skirted anarchists" but couldn't remember where I'd got it from - well, this weekend, I re-watched the BBC suffragette sitcom ****_Up The Women_**** (written by the brilliant Jessica Hynes) and it turns out that it's a line used by the anti-suffrage character Helen. My subconscious had clearly absorbed it for just such an occasion…!**

* * *

"Would you like to invite Mr Pelham for dinner one evening?" wondered Sir Anthony, pausing at the end of a letter, and lifting his glasses to look over at her.

"Oh." Edith blinked. "_D-dinner_, sir? Here? With - with you and Master Pip?"

"Yes. You seem to be… getting close." His mouth quirked dryly. "We'd try our best not to embarrass you. My word of honour."

His secretary shot him a somewhat old-fashioned look. "Yes, of course. That wasn't what I - " She stopped, frowning. "I mean… wouldn't that be… a little odd?"

"Well, I've barely met the man," Sir Anthony reminded her. "I think I ought to look him over, if you've set your heart on him, m'dear. You know, so I can satisfy your brother-in-law, should he ever ask me."

"We're just friends," Edith reassured him. "I… I don't think there's anything like that to it."

"Isn't there?" Sir Anthony's smile was encouraging. "He seems like a nice chap. Your cousin Isobel speaks rather highly of him." In an off-hand sort of voice, he added, "And… isn't he the heir to someone or other?"

Edith blushed bright red. "The Marquess of Hexham. Yes. If - if he doesn't have children. The Marquess, not - not Mr Pelham…"

"Yes. I quite see." His smile was encouraging. "Well… he'd be an excellent match."

"Would he? Would he really?" She was looking out of the window, a little bleakly.

"_Yes_. Even if he never inherits… he's young, bright, well set-up… and he seems to adore you. And you must think of the future, you know."

"The future, sir?" Her voice was very small.

His voice was forcibly bright, even to his own ears. "I mean… you shan't want to be rattling around here forever with Pip and me, shall you?" Sir Anthony paused, and then continued, very gently, "Eventually… even if you can't see yourself in that position just now… you're going to want a husband… a house of your own… children, even. Mr Pelham could give you those things."

"Wouldn't it all just be… too complicated?" Edith sighed helplessly.

His eyes were filled with sympathy. "He doesn't strike me as… as an unpleasant or - or judgemental sort of a man, not from what I've seen of him. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Edith laughed a little sadly. "You judge everyone by your own standards, I'm afraid, sir."

"Do I? Well… I very much hope Mr Pelham will live up to them. Shall we say… Saturday next?"

"If you like. I'll telephone later today, and see if it'll be convenient."

Sir Anthony nodded, swallowed thickly, and winced. Edith frowned, distracted from all thoughts of Bertie and dinner. "That's the fourth time this morning you've made that face, sir."

"I'm sorry?"

"And you _sound_ ill, too!" Edith accused him. "All… raspy."

"'_Raspy_'?" he squeaked - and coughed.

"Yes!" Edith returned firmly and stood up. Briskly, she laid the back of her hand across his forehead, ignoring him when he jerked away. "_And_ you're burning up!" She shook her head. "I'm telephoning for Dr Clarkson."

"There's absolutely _no_ need - "

"Oh, yes, there is!" Edith interrupted. "This could be influenza, and Mrs Dale will flay you alive if everyone else comes down it with too. So stop being so stubborn, thank you, sir."

"And who put you in charge?" Sir Anthony asked, a smile lingering about his eyes.

"_I_ did," Edith retorted. "This is a _coup_. Relax and try to enjoy it, won't you, sir?"

Sir Anthony chuckled throatily. "All rebels will be shot at dawn?"

"Oh, far worse than that." Edith turned at the door and gave him a faint smile. "Confined to bed and put on a diet of beef tea and aspirin."

He lifted his hands weakly. "I surrender. I do hope you treat your prisoners gently, Mrs Crawley."

She flushed. "I'll telephone the doctor, sir, and then find Mr Stewart. He can fetch you a Beecham's powder."

* * *

"Well, Janey," Colonel Montgomery announced to his wife as he limped into the study, "Sir Anthony's just telephoned - asks if we can run Mrs Crawley over to your motoring club tomorrow evening. He's got the influenza, and the Gervases are away in London." As he spoke, he lowered himself into the seat on his side of the large desk he shared with his wife.

Mrs Montgomery made a distracted noise of sympathy and her husband asked, "What's she like? I've only ever exchanged the odd word with her after church on a Sunday."

His wife pulled her attention away from the week's menus and replied, "Nice girl. Quite quiet, but… she's got a determined head on her shoulders. Lady Gervas is rather fighting her corner just now, in fact."

"About what?"

Mrs Montgomery shook her head darkly. "Oh, she's got some silly notion that Virginia Fyfe's trying to become the second Lady Strallan - as if Sir Anthony's foolish enough to fall for any of her tricks."

Her husband lifted his eyebrows, making himself look even more owlish than usual. "And Lady Gervas is trying to promote the Crawley girl as a more promising candidate?"

"Mmm, something like that."

"Gosh," her husband pronounced, "whoever knew our little corner of the world was such a hotbed of scheming?"

His wife sighed, half-fond, half-exasperated, and squeezed his hand briefly. "Only those of us with eyes and ears. Now, _do_ let me concentrate, William. I haven't finished looking over the menus for next week yet, and Mrs Raikes sent a note round to say her daughter's ill and won't be able to come and help in the scullery on Tuesday - you know, when the Sampsons are coming for dinner? It _would_ be just now, wouldn't it!" She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I've no idea who I can get instead…"

* * *

"This is very kind of you, Colonel," Edith smiled as she slid into the back seat of the Montgomeries' car.

"Not at all, m'dear!" The colonel gave her a warm smile. "And how's Strallan? Not too ill, we hope?"

"No, the doctor says that with a few days' rest, Sir Anthony will be perfectly well."

"Seems everyone's ill just now," he commented as he turned out of Locksley's drive. "Isn't that right, Janey?"

"Oh?" Edith lifted an eyebrow in polite concern. "You're not ill, Mrs Montgomery?"

"No, my dear, perfectly well. William means Hannah Raikes - she sometimes lends a hand in the scullery when we've a large dinner. Well, she says she can't come next Tuesday."

"Can't be helped if the poor, unfortunate girl's ill…" William shrugged.

Jane pursed her lips briefly. "'Unfortunate' may well be the word. I know I oughtn't gossip, but from the way the note was phrased… well, it wouldn't surprise me at all if the girl was… _in trouble_. You know she was stepping out with that awful man who knocked Phillip down, Mrs Crawley."

"Goodness," Edith replied, a little numbly. "How awful for her."

"Perfectly awful," Jane Montgomery agreed. "But then, her mother _has_ always struck me as rather lax..."


	32. Gossip

"I wish you'd tell me where we're going!" Edith laughed as she and Bertie walked along the pavement. "You promised me tea, not a walking tour of Downton village!"

Bertie grinned. "Just a little further, I promise, and then you'll see."

"You know, I hate surprises," Edith warned him.

He squeezed her elbow. "Well, I hope you'll like this one. Very much." He stopped at the gate to a fair-sized house. "Ah, here we are."

"And where exactly is 'here'?" Edith wondered.

Bertie pushed the gate open and gestured a bewildered Edith down the garden path. "Well, you know I've been living in those poky little rooms above the estate office…"

"Yes?"

"…And that Lord Grantham had promised me a proper house as soon as everything could be arranged…"

"Yes?"

"Well," he smiled, taking the latchkey out of his pocket and opening the front door with a flourish, "here it is."

Edith stepped into a wide, pleasant hallway. To her right were the stairs, to her left, a door stood open into an empty drawing room. Peering around the door frame, Edith saw wide sash windows which looked out onto the front garden. The whole place gave the impression of light and space and airiness. Turning, she saw Bertie watching her, somewhat anxiously. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a very beautiful house, Bertie. Congratulations."

He exhaled as if in relief. "Oh, good. I - I hoped you'd like it." His smile was sheepish. "You wouldn't want me to change anything - not from what you've seen?"

Edith shook her head. "No. But… I rather think it's your decision how you set your house up."

Bertie reached for her hand. "Well, that's the thing, you see." He pressed a kiss to the back of her fingers. "I'm rather hoping that… that one day, soon, it'll be your decision, too."

For a moment, Edith could do no more than gape. At last, she managed, "I see."

Bertie shrugged, and stepped back, spinning his hat anxiously between his hands. "I'll… do it all properly, of course. Down on one knee, all that. I just wanted to… to tip you the wink, you know. Give you chance to… think about it. Get an answer ready." He ducked his head. "I hope I haven't… offended you."

Edith slipped her arm into his. "No. No, of course not. I… was just surprised, that's all."

"I don't know why!" Bertie exclaimed as he led her back towards the door. "Have I done such a rotten job of showing you how I feel? Dash it all, Edie, you know you're the most wonderful girl I've ever met."

Edith blushed. "Flatterer. Come on, let's go and have our tea."

"All right. But… you _will_ think about what I've said?"

He was framed by afternoon sunlight in the doorway and that sweet, tremulous smile was hovering over his face. Edith was filled with a sudden rush of warmth and goodwill towards him. "Yes, Bertie. I will. I - I promise."

* * *

_…__Sir Anthony says that I ought to think very carefully about Mr Pelham, as a prospect. But wouldn't everything be horribly awkward? If he proposed, I would have to tell him precisely what sort of a woman I am, and if I did and things went badly, there might be a scandal. I couldn't bear to put you all through that - especially not Mama. I don't think I could bear the way she would look at me._

_What I really need is for my clever brother-in-law to tell me what I should do. If nothing else, Richard, I know you will always have my best interests at heart._

_Yours in hope,_

_Edith_

Edith sighed and set down her pen, then (before she could change her mind) folded the letter briskly and shoved it into the already stamped and addressed envelope. The office, of course, not the house. She had no idea, even having lived with Mary and Richard for months, whether they were one of those couples who opened each other's correspondence, or, were it to be delivered to the house, whether Mary - seeing her handwriting on the envelope - might open it anyway, even if it were not her usual habit.

It was Sunday afternoon, just after lunch, and Edith was sitting at her desk in the library, snatching a brief hour of peace. The morning had been taken up with church - for everyone except Sir Anthony, who was still laid up with the influenza, although 'giving enough cheek' that it was clear he was in no serious danger. And hadn't _that_ little sermon been an experience! The sins of the flesh had been the vicar's topic - a rather out-of-character one for the Reverend Bentley, and one that had prompted several interesting questions from Pip on the walk back - and Edith felt that her soul had received no nourishment from it whatsoever. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"I _am _sorry, my dear," Mrs Bentley had sighed in an undertone as she shook hands with Edith afterwards. "I'm afraid it's this business with the Raikes girl. It's quite shaken George up. I've never _seen_ him so cast down. He went to visit her and her parents yesterday - you know, clergyman's duty and all that and…" She shrugged helplessly. "Well, he keeps coming out with all sorts of nonsense, that he hasn't been strict enough about the - the 'moral health' of his parishioners - and it's making him rather fire-and-brimstone, I'm afraid."

The 'business with the Raikes girl' had travelled around the local area with the speed of Hermes, as all such gossip, in all such places, inevitably did, and it had been the main topic of conversation before that morning's service. Just as Jane Montgomery had predicted, the girl _was_ pregnant, pregnant enough that concealment had no longer been possible. Edith had listened in silent agony to the whispered gossip - impossible not to, with the congregation so full of it - and felt her stomach churn again and again. If her situation had been different - if she had not lost her baby - if Sir Anthony had not been so unspeakably kind - if Mrs Dale and Mrs Cox and Dr Clarkson had not been so wonderfully discreet… then she herself could so easily have been the subject of such hateful, snide comments.

"Of course, she's no better than she should be."

"And she always thought so much of herself. You could tell. Well, how the mighty are fallen!"

"The good Lord only knows what'll happen to her now. No _decent_ man'll want anything to do with her."

"If she were one of ours, I said to Agnes, if she were one of ours, she'd not spend another night under our roof. Ought to be ashamed of herself."

At this Edith had not been able to help letting a small, shuddering gasp of breath escape her. And then -

"And _you_ ought to know better than to be gossiping about a poor, unfortunate girl, Ted Brierley!" Mrs Cox turned around in her pew and fixed the offending farmer with a steely glare. "'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone' - and I'd wager your Agnes could tell a tale or two that'd make _you_ blush to be seen out of doors!" She shook her head in obvious disgust. "And to be carrying on so in a house of God, too."

Mr Brierley sank a little in his seat and coughed uncomfortably. "Well, I'm only _saying_ what everyone else is _thinking_, Mrs Cox…"

"Then they ought to be ashamed of 'emselves too!" Mrs Cox snapped. "As if that poor family haven't enough worry to be contending with, without a bunch of busybodies and gossips making sport out of 'em. It isn't Christian, Mr Brierley, it isn't _Christian_ \- and if I hear any more, I shall be making a point to say so to Mr Bentley. See how you like being lectured by _him_."

On this impressive note, the stout little cook had turned back around in her pew. Under cover of her voluminous coat skirts, her calloused, wrinkled old hand had found Edith's and squeezed it tightly. "Just you pay them no mind, lass," she'd murmured, as the first strains of the first hymn were coaxed out of the organ by Mr Harris. "Just you pay them no mind."

All in all, it had made for a rather glum morning. Putting everything down clearly on paper to Richard had helped somewhat, but Edith still felt shaky and out of sorts. Without realising it, she had been staring aimlessly into space, pondering the discomfiture of the day thus far, and only came out of her trance at the sound of a knock on the open door frame.

She looked up, startled, and saw Sir Anthony standing there, one hand braced against the frame, looking a little pale still, but rather better than he had done since Thursday. "Penny for them?" he asked, advancing carefully into the library.

Edith gave him a tired smile. "I'm not sure they're worth quite that much, sir." Seeking to turn the subject, she asked, "Are you sure you ought to be out of bed just yet?"

"I'll do," he reassured her. "I think if I stay horizontal for much longer, I shall go mad. Can I count on you not to betray me to Mrs Dale?" As he spoke, he lowered himself into his customary armchair and fixed her with that particular stare of his, the one that made her feel uncomfortably as if she were under some sort of microscope. "Mrs Cox," he explained quietly, "told me about the, ah, unpleasantness at church this morning, when she brought my luncheon up."

Edith sighed. "I see. Yes, it was rather unpleasant, as it happens."

"People will gossip about these things, I suppose," Sir Anthony offered. "Not that that makes it any more palatable. Especially not when…" He trailed off.

"Especially," Edith finished with an effort, "not when one is so very aware that oneself could come in for the same sort of bile, one day."

His eyes crinkled at the corners in sympathy. "No one would ever learn anything of that sort from anyone who shares your secret, my dear."

"No," Edith agreed. "But if I were ever to - to feel _compelled_ to tell anyone else…"

"Ah." Sir Anthony shifted in his chair. "I collect that we are now speaking of Mr Pelham."

"Yes." She flushed. "I - I wasn't entirely truthful with you, the other day, when I said that I thought we were just friends." Her hands twisted anxiously beneath the desk. "He - he hasn't made any secret of the fact that he… that he finds me… _attractive. _That… that he'd like to marry me."

Sir Anthony smiled as she blushed. "Well," he replied, "if it isn't terribly impertinent to say so… I'm not entirely surprised." The smile faded a little. "And… and you, my dear? Is it all quite one-sided, or… are you… not entirely indifferent to him?"

Edith's blush deepened. "Not - not _entirely _indifferent, no. He's… he's very kind, and sweet and - and easy to be with. And that's why I'd _have_ to tell him, you know, if - _when _\- he proposes. There's no other way." She drew herself up, almost unconsciously straightening her shoulders. "To - to accept him under any other circumstance would be… entirely dishonourable. I'd be - be catching him with a lie, pretending to be something that I'm not."

"My dear," Sir Anthony said firmly, "you have never been anything other than honest with him - "

"I have," Edith interrupted shakily. "I've pretended to be virtuous. And it _would_ be a lie to marry him and let him think me a - an innocent, when all the while he'd be receiving… _damaged goods_."

There was silence - an uncomfortable, weighty silence - for several minutes. At length: "Please," Sir Anthony requested in tones of quiet solemnity, "_please_, do not _ever_ use that phrase in my hearing again." Belatedly, he added, "_Or _out of it, for that matter."

"Aren't I just… tricking myself, by pretending otherwise?" Edith wondered stoically.

"It's a _filthy_ phrase," he snapped with sudden violence, "that I wouldn't even use about an animal, let alone - " He stopped, breathing heavily. "I find the idea," he continued, in calmer accents, "that a woman can be 'damaged' merely because she has partaken in one of the most human of acts _utterly repellent_." He fixed Edith with that hard stare once again. "If he proposes, are _you_ going to ask _him_ for a recital of _his_ past lovers?"

"I - I don't - that is, I - "

"Because it oughtn't to matter. Not under any circumstances."

Edith laughed bitterly. "But it does. It _does_ matter. It mightn't, when you have a title, and friends who will stand by you, and a position in the county - but when you are in my situation, it matters a very great deal indeed." She stood and Sir Anthony mirrored her. Tiredly, she waved him back into his seat. "Please, don't trouble yourself, sir. You oughtn't even to be out of bed yet."

"Mrs Crawley - "

"I'm going to lie down," Edith managed, the tears already clouding her vision. "I've got the most splitting head…"

* * *

On Tuesday evening, Richard's reply arrived. Despite her brother-in-law's speed in answering her, his words brought her very little comfort.

_My dear girl, _(it read)

_Quite frankly, I agree with your Sir Anthony. If a scandal is what worries you, then marriage to a man like Bertie Pelham is your most sensible choice. From what you say of him, I cannot imagine that he would react poorly to your being honest with him. _

_Added to which, as his wife, you would be shielded from any _future_ scandal that might break in relation to your connection with Mr Gregson. Mercenary it may seem, but you asked me for my honest advice, and I am bound to give it._

_On a _less_ mercenary note, he could make you happy, I think, if only you were willing to allow yourself to be made so. You made a mistake, but you do not need to let it destroy the rest of your life._

_With my fondest wishes, I remain_

_Yours, Richard_

_PS: Sybil seems a little distracted just now. A letter from you might be timely._

Edith set down the reply and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was just the reply she had been expecting - full of sensible, practical, _reasonable_ advice - but not necessarily the one she had wanted.

Her lips quirked bitterly. Really, what had she been hoping Richard would say? _'Don't fret, darling girl, if you don't love him, you don't have to marry him'_? _'Someday someone will come along whom you'll love, and he'll be willing to take you even with all your filthy scandal'_? She snorted. _Ridiculous. _

If she did not wish to spend her life alone - _and she didn't, she really didn't!_ \- then she ought to do as Richard and Sir Anthony had both suggested. If - _when _\- Bertie proposed, she should accept him.

Edith knew all of this.

So why did the thought of it make her want to weep?


	33. Letters From Home

Still, life went on. It had to, really, didn't it? So that afternoon, Edith picked up her pen once more and began a letter to Sybil. She had only got a paragraph in, however, when Pip knocked on the study door and trundled in, dumping a letter on her desk. "We saw the postman as we were driving up the lane. Letter for you, Mrs C."

"Thank you, my dear." Edith lifted it and saw her name scrawled across the envelope in Sybil's looping, liberal hand. "Good day?"

"Rather! Rugby _and_ dissecting frogs, all in one day!"

Edith wrinkled her nose a little. "Delightful. I hope you're planning to wash your hands before you eat."

"Don't worry, Mrs C., I rinsed them under the cloakroom tap before Latin." And without further ado, he plonked himself down in the armchair, selected a slice of fruitcake from the teatray and tucked in. Elegantly, Buttons sprang up onto his lap and curled up, purring.

Edith slipped her letter into her cardigan pocket as Sir Anthony came through the door, a trifle windswept. "Tea, sir?"

"Yes, thank you." As he spoke, he frowned down at the top of Pip's head. "Bath before dinner, I think, young man. You've still got mud in your hair."

"And frogs' viscera under your nails," winced Edith, spying a suspiciously red stain beneath Pip's thumbnail.

"What's 'viscera'?" Pip asked around a mouthful of cake.

"Guts," his father replied shortly. "What _do_ you learn from your Latin master?"

* * *

_Darling Edith,_ (ran Sybil's effusive salutation)

_You'll laugh when you read this; I can just imagine it. But I can't say a word to anyone else, and I'll burst if I have to keep it to myself for even a moment longer, so I shall just have to get used to being an object of fun to you._

_Write it down in the annals of history, my dear sister: Tuesday last was the day I fell in love._

_Or, realised that it had happened, anyway._

_Edith, it's such an odd thing. It's been creeping up on me so gradually that I didn't realise it until I found myself kissing him - in the middle of Kensington Gardens, of all the silly places. And now… I can't stop laughing at myself for being so stupidly blind. 'Just friends', indeed!_

_I'm talking about Tom, of course. All those weeks and months of thinking we were just friends, without realising that he was becoming the person most important to me in the world. I know you'll say that I'm a child still, who doesn't know her own mind, but I'm nearly twenty and I am absolutely sure of him. He listens when I talk, Edith, and he takes me seriously. He's an absolute darling. He'd do anything for me._

_Of course, Richard would skin him alive if he ever, ever knew - so you must promise to keep my secret, just for a while. Tom won't be a junior correspondent for ever, you know, and once he's got a better position, and a proper house, instead of just rooms, he wants to marry me. And in return, I'll promise that I won't do anything silly - even if I can't forget how tingly his kisses made me!_

_Yours madly in love,_

_Sybil xxx_

Edith shook her head at reaching the end of this missive. No wonder Sybil had been distracted! Of course, Mr Branson was rather handsome - and if Sybil had been a more flighty girl, interested only in parties and the latest fashions, Edith might have believed it just to be passing fancy, a mere 'crush.' But despite her irreverent style of writing, Edith knew her younger sister to be a serious sort of person at heart, not one to have her heart easily stirred or her head easily turned merely by a handsome face.

Doubtless, they had bonded over their shared political views. Well, that wasn't a bad start. Shared opinions were a solid basis for a relationship of that sort, Edith had always thought. And at least Mr Branson did not seem to be leading her astray with false promises or attempts at more physical intimacy before marriage. Kissing, Edith felt, could be excused - although she wished that Sybil had chosen a less public venue for her romantic _rendezvous_, if secrecy were her object.

As to keeping everything a secret from Richard, however - ! Edith shook her head again at that. She thought more charitably of their brother-in-law than Sybil did, unsurprisingly. Sybil only saw the firm, forbidding side of him, thought him cold and unfeeling, but Edith knew better. He could be kind and thoughtful and understanding, when he chose, and he was terribly good at reading people. And he cared for them all so frightfully much. Edith understood that now, even if she hadn't always. Much as she hated to admit that her older sister had done anything sensible, Mary had really picked very well when she had chosen Richard for a husband.

She only wished she could get Sybil to realise it, too.

* * *

_My darling…_

_…__If ever you need anything - help or money or a listening ear or a roof over your beautiful head - just send for me. You said, when you told me about George, that what scared you most was the idea that you had hurt me, my love, and at the time I was too stupidly cross to reassure you. _

_But please believe me when I say that you could do __nothing__ that would stop me from loving you._

_…__Your most affectionate friend,_

_V._

* * *

_…__I adore you now just as I did when we were children, when you used to visit Downton, or we used to dine at Cadogan Square. I love the woman you have become just as I loved the dark-haired girl you were. My very soul aches every moment we are apart from each other. I live only to see you again, to taste your sweet kisses, to feel your hand in mine, as it should always have been, cleverest, most beautiful Mary…_

* * *

_Mama…_

_…__Life trundles on here as usual; Pip is off his crutches and back up to full speed again, much to everyone's chagrin. Mrs Crawley has been invaluable in keeping him in check._

_I don't think I mentioned to you, the last time I wrote, that she has been courting a young man by the name of Bertie Pelham, the heir to the Marquess of Hexham. I don't think I am wrong in imagining that a proposal will shortly be forthcoming. So you see, you were wrong indeed the last time you visited, when you supposed her to have any tender feelings for me…_

* * *

_My dear George,_

_I am sorry to find myself writing these words…_

* * *

"What's all this?" Edith asked, peering into the kitchen. Mrs Cox was packing up a basket on the kitchen table. "Is somebody ill?"

"No, not ill," Mrs Cox replied. "I just thought… well, the Raikeses have lost a wage, haven't they? They might find a few odds and ends useful. Nothing fancy, just a loaf and some cheese, and a bit of fruit and veg from the stores. The master agrees."

Edith smiled warmly. "Of course he would."

"Mmm." Mrs Cox shook her head. "And of course, there's not even a prospect of marriage yet, is there, what with her young man locked up? Although the master doesn't seem to think he's guilty." Mrs Cox peered at the contents of the basket closely, and then tucked in a jar of jam. "Well, I'll walk this over after luncheon." She frowned at Edith. "Are you all right, my lamb?"

"Mmm," Edith murmured, noncommittally. "I just… feel as if I've forgotten something…"

The feeling persisted throughout the day, a sort of itch in her brain that she couldn't scratch. Something that Mrs Cox had said… or that someone else had said… something about Miss Raikes... It was hovering there, just out of reach, like an apple on a tree that you couldn't pluck down, no matter how much you stretched up for it.

She turned in early that night, but her sleep was fitful and disturbed.

_Mr Owens stared with anxious eyes at Larry Grey, who smirked and smirked. And there was someone else behind Larry - the shadowy figure of a woman, who was sobbing as she pressed a hand to her swollen belly. Edith stepped forwards - to help, to offer comfort - and suddenly Sybil was at her side, tugging at Mr Branson's hand. 'He's a darling,' she reminded Edith. 'He'd do anything for me.'_

Edith lurched up in bed, suddenly awake, revelation fizzing through her. "Of _course_ he would, you fool," she whispered to herself. "Wouldn't _anyone_?"

But she wasn't talking about Mr Branson.


	34. Holmes Gets Help

"Sir?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Might I… have an hour or so off this morning, to walk down into the village?"

"Yes, of course." Sir Anthony lifted his reading glasses from his face and showed her an anxious expression. "Nothing awful, I hope?"

"No. Just… this business with Miss Raikes - "

He sighed. "I _knew_ it had upset you - "

Edith raised a hand to silence him. "It's not that. I promise. Actually… I think she may know something about Mr Owens and - and Master Pip's accident."

Sir Anthony sat back in his chair. "Good heavens. Well, then… you must certainly go. Will you tell me your suspicions, my dear Holmes?"

Edith blushed. "No. At least… not yet. I might be utterly wrong, and I'd be frightfully embarrassed if I'd… said something to anyone else beforehand."

"Even me?" Sir Anthony wondered.

A little smile played around her lips. "Even you, sir."

* * *

"Mrs Raikes? Is your daughter at home?"

"Where else would she be?" Mrs Raikes was peering suspiciously around the doorframe.

"Of course." Edith sighed. "I'm sorry. My name is Edith Crawley. I work for Sir Anthony Strallan. I wonder… could I talk to her about - about John Owens?"

"I don't want that scoundrel's name mentioned in my - "

"Of course, I understand perfectly," Edith interrupted. "But… but I believe that your daughter may know something about Mr Owens being in prison. He isn't guilty, and I think she may know who is and I - "

"Let her in, Mother," came a quiet voice from the kitchen doorway.

"Hannah - "

"Please, Ma." Miss Raikes sidled into view - pretty and dark-haired and very obviously pregnant. "I - I want to help."

Her mother exhaled in disapproval. "Well, I'm off to take your father his dinner. You sit down and _stay indoors_."

Hannah shrugged at Edith as her mother left. "As if everyone down our way doesn't know about the baby."

Edith bit her lip and shuffled further into the hallway. "How far gone are you?"

"Five months, now, miss. Nearly six."

Edith took a breath. "But - but the baby isn't Mr Owens's, is it?"

Miss Raikes started to shake her head, and as she did so, her shoulders shook too, her eyes welled, and tears suddenly began to run down her cheeks. "_N-no_," she whispered. "And - and he said he couldn't help if - if he went to prison but…"

"But now that Mr Owens has gone instead, he _still_ hasn't helped," Edith finished grimly. "We _are_ talking about Mr Grey? Mr Larry Grey?"

Hannah nodded.

"God," she whispered, "I was an _idiot_, letting myself - have my head turned by him."

"I think," said Edith gently, "it would help to tell me everything right from the beginning."

They sat by the fire in the kitchen, Edith on one side of the hearth, Hannah Raikes on the other. "I think I know what happened," Edith explained. "Just… stop me if I get anything wrong?"

Hannah nodded silently. Edith took a deep breath. "Well, you were stepping out with Mr Owens. But… Mr Grey… took a shine to you, too."

Hannah laughed hoarsely. "That's… one way of putting it, miss, yes."

"And… you… you… with him…."

Another nod. Edith twisted her fingers in her skirt. "With… I mean, he didn't - when you… you…"

Hannah gave her a sad, comforting smile. "He didn't force me, miss, if that's what you're asking. I… was looking for excitement. Johnnie…" She sighed. "Too often, he'd had too much to drink and… well, Mr Grey was different, or so I thought. He… flattered me, flirted with me… and I was fool enough to flirt back. And one day, when my father was out to work and Mother had gone to visit my auntie… I went out with him. There's a hotel in York." Her mouth twisted. "Well, there was a soft bed and a hot meal afterwards… and he said he was in love with me." She chanced a glance at Edith. "What must you think of me, miss?"

"Don't worry," Edith whispered honestly. "You're not the first girl to be caught out by a trick like that. Trust me. Go on."

Hannah let out a shuddering breath. "Anyway… that went on for a few months… Things sort of… cooled off with Johnnie… and then I realised that I was expecting."

"And Mr Owens found out?"

"I told him. We… when we were little 'uns ourselves, long before there was anything else between us. We were… chums. Sat next to each other at school." A faint smile passed over her face. "Miss Redburn's class. And I didn't know what else to do." She swallowed. "It was around that time that… that the accident happened, with Master Phillip, you know."

"And what did Mr Owens do?"

"He went and spoke to Mr Grey. And he said… well, he said that there weren't much he could do for me if he were locked up, and that… if Johnnie took the blame, then he'd make sure I was all right. Looked after, and all that." Fresh tears welled in Hannah's eyes. "I'd have _never_ agreed to it, if I'd known what Johnnie was going to do." There was misery in every line of her face. "He loved me enough to do that, and I didn't even realise until it was too late."

"And… Mr Grey?" But Edith knew, really, without asking what Miss Raikes' answer was going to be.

She was not disappointed.

"Nothing. Since my mother found out, she's been keeping a pretty close eye on me, and I haven't been able to get out much… but he hasn't tried to see me - or - or get in touch with me, and - and I'm so frightened that Johnnie's thrown away the rest of his life for - for _nothing_." Edith offered her her handkerchief.

When Miss Raikes had dried her eyes again, she asked, "Why are you interested anyway, miss?"

"Well, you know I work for Sir Anthony. I like Master Phillip very much, and I'd hate to think that the person who ought properly to be punished for it had got away with it instead. Thank you, so very much, for your help, Miss Raikes. And you'd be happy to help me further?"

"I'd do _anything_ to get Johnnie out of prison, miss. If I hadn't been such a fool, he wouldn't be there now."

"Right," Edith smiled. "Well, then, this is what I think we should do…"

* * *

By the time Edith left, Miss Raikes was looking much brighter. "I'll write a note to Mr Grey this evening, miss - Lord knows how I'll slip out to post it, though."

"Write it now," Edith suggested, "and I'll post it for you, on my way back to Locksley. Will he know how to get word to you without - without your mother knowing?"

Hannah blushed. "Yes. He'll… he'll go for a ride, nod to my mother at the kitchen window as he goes by in the lane. God, it sounds so… so _low_, doesn't it?"

Edith squeezed her hand. "None of that matters now. You must only think of the baby and - and of Mr Owens."

"Edith! Edith!"

Bertie's voice hailed her just as she slipped Miss Raikes' note into the postbox. She turned, fixing a smile on to her face as he jogged up to her. "Hello," he grinned, slightly out of breath.

"Hello, Bertie."

"I was going to drive over to Locksley later, but you've saved me a journey. I thought… tea at the Copper Kettle on Wednesday afternoon? We've rather let our sleuthing lapse, haven't we, the last couple of weeks? We should… get back to it."

Edith hesitated. Ought she to tell him what she had been working on? What she had discovered? _No,_ she decided. _He'd only try to stop you, you know._ Bertie's face fell at her silence. "I say, I haven't… frightened you off, have I? You know, the other day when I said… what I said?"

Hastily, Edith reached out her hand and squeezed his elbow. "No. No, of course not. I… may be busy that afternoon, but I'll telephone and let you know for certain."

"Right-o." Bertie exhaled. "Well, _that's_ a relief. You did… look a little bit… rabbit in the headlights."

"It wasn't you," Edith reassured him. "I'm just… not as simple as I used to be, Bertie."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

She huffed out a laugh. "There's no reason why you should. It doesn't matter - I'll let you know about Wednesday."

Bertie squeezed her hand. "You know I'm mad about you, don't you?"

"Yes." Edith swallowed, her eyes prickling. "I know."

Another squeeze of his hand and he released her, doffing his hat. "Well, I'd best be off. I'll… hover by my telephone until you call."

_That_ coaxed a smile out of her. "Oh, don't be so silly, Watson."

* * *

"So only three days until Lady Flora's wedding," smiled Claudia as she, Isobel, Veronica and Ginny got into Veronica's car.

"Y-yes," Veronica answered.

"Hugh and I had dinner with her, and her parents, and Mr Millbanke, while we were in London," Claudia persisted. "A nice chap, I thought - if perhaps a little stuffy."

"Mmm."

"And hers won't be the only wedding bells in our circle," interpolated Isobel. "Not if I'm any judge."

"Oh? Why's that?" asked Veronica, clearing her throat.

"Well… oh, I probably shouldn't say anything, Matthew would be terribly cross if he heard, but - well, Mr Pelham spoke to him the other day, and it seems he's intent on asking dear Edith to marry him."

"Really?" Claudia exclaimed. "Goodness, I'd no idea things were so advanced between them!"

"Mr Pelham seems to think so. And he seems to think he'll get a favourable answer," Isobel twinkled. "I can't say I'm disappointed - he's a nice chap, and Edith deserves to be very happy."

"Of course she does," Ginny replied. "And she's making a very sensible choice. I hope they'll be just _blissful_ together."

"Yes," agreed Veronica. Her eyes were sad. "At least someone will be…"

* * *

Rain had set in by the time the motorcar club called it a night, and decided to head in for sherry. As Edith got out of the car, pulling her raincoat more closely around her, she heard Miss Hargreaves gasp. "Is that…?" she asked, sounding much surprised.

Edith followed her outstretched arm. A figure was stumbling up the drive towards them. A tall, thin figure, the figure of a woman with blonde hair.

"Oh Lord, it _is!_" Jane Montgomery gaped.

"Well, whatever is she doing here?" wondered Mrs Bentley.

"Who?" asked Veronica, coming around _her_ car to look. Then her face rapidly paled.

"God. _Flora!_"


	35. Flora and Veronica

And indeed it _was_ Flora. Her hair was soaked and straggling down over her shoulders, tumbling from her pins; she had no coat and her dress was clinging to her tall, slender frame. In one hand, she held a small carpet-bag. Veronica stepped forwards once, and then twice, and Flora stumbled into her open arms.

Briskly, Miss Hargreaves stepped forwards, taking off her coat and draping it over Flora's shoulders. "Lady Flora!" she scolded, with all the brusque kindness of a schoolmistress, "You're soaked through - come on, let's get you inside." And then, as Miss Orton seemed not to have heard her, "_Veronica_?"

Her hostess looked up, blinking. "Y-yes. Yes, of course." Beneath the coat, Edith saw, her hand had linked with Flora's free one, clinging to her so tightly that both women's knuckles were going white. As they reached the hall, Veronica seemed to come back to herself. "Baines! Baines!"

"Yes, madam?"

"Lady Flora's usual room, thank you - build up the fire and run her a warm bath." Glancing at Flora briefly, Veronica added, "And send up some hot food, for God's sake!"

"Of course, madam." Baines bowed, looking for all the world as if bedraggled females frequently arrived on his mistress's doorstep at all hours. But, then, Edith supposed, Veronica _was_ a suffragette. "Shall I ask Mrs Rivers to come and see to her ladyship, madam?"

"No, I'll deal with her myself." Veronica looked around at everyone. In the lights of the hall, Flora looked pale and she was starting to shiver. "I'm sorry - I'll have to cut the evening short," Veronica said to her guests, "I really need to look after Flora. I'll - I'll telephone you all tomorrow. Baines - see that everyone can - can telephone their homes."

"Of course," Edith nodded. "I hope… I hope everything's quite all right."

"I think it will be. Goodbye, Edith, everyone." Without further ado, she led Flora through to the library and shut the door behind them with a firm snap.

"What a night!" Claudia squeezed Edith's hand. "I'll telephone Hugh. Can we offer anyone else a lift, do you suppose?"

* * *

"Good evening!" Edith called from the hallway as she walked through the library passage; as usual for this time of night, she could see that the library light was still on.

"Hello! Everything all right?" Sir Anthony asked as she entered the library. He stood as she spoke, setting aside his book. "Unusual of you to be home so early. Barely half past ten."

"Yes." Edith slipped off her coat and folded it over the back of her usual armchair before sitting down. "Lady Flora's there. At Orton Park. Just… turned up, out of the blue. It looked as if she'd walked all the way from the station."

"Gosh." Sir Anthony reached down and stoked the fire. "Is she all right?" He glanced back at her. "Help yourself to a brandy, if you'd like - it's a beastly night." The rain was still hammering down outside, hissing and spitting at the windowpanes and down the chimney, and the wind was howling through the trees too.

"Mmm, thank you. Veronica's looking after her now." Edith shook her head, frowning, as she stood, went over to the sideboard and lifted the tantalus. "There's… something odd going on. I didn't quite understand."

"Ah. I see."

"You sound as if you already know!" Edith half-laughed as she sat back down.

"I… think I can guess," Sir Anthony hedged.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say." Edith's voice was quiet and bewildered.

"I think," Sir Anthony said gently, "that you are going to say that… Miss Orton and Lady Flora appear… rather closer than friends, and… that confuses you."

Edith blinked. "Well… yes."

Sir Anthony sat back in his chair and took a sip from his own glass. After a moment, he asked, "Tell me, my dear… have you heard of Sappho?"

"I think so." Edith frowned as she tried to remember. "Was she the Greek poetess who… _oh!"_ Her eyes suddenly widened and she stared at him. "Oh. And… you're telling me that - that Veronica and Flora are…"

"I believe the adjective you are searching for is 'Sapphic', my dear." He gave her a wry smile. He didn't seem at all shocked. "Yes. Very."

"_Well_." Edith puffed out her cheeks and exhaled noisily. "I didn't… I wasn't…" She drained the remaining finger of her brandy. "I thought that that was all just… made-up. Not - not _real_."

He winced. "Have I shocked you?"

"No." She shrugged her shoulders. "I rather think I'm becoming, well, _unshockable._"

"Then I'm sorry for that."

"Why?" She gave him a dry look. "Ignorance isn't always bliss, you know."

"No, but… experience brings with it its own set of difficulties, I'm afraid."

"Perhaps you're right."

"I'm sorry - I've not… made you think badly of them, of either of them?" His brows knitted, making him look rather like a worried owl. "Because I honestly have the most tremendous respect for both of them, and it really isn't anyone else's business how - or with whom - they spend their time."

"No," she reassured him. Really, he was the nicest man, wasn't he? "I'm… not sure what I think, yet, but… it isn't bad. I'm not… disgusted, or anything."

There was silence for a while - a comfortable silence - and then Sir Anthony stirred himself and asked, "Oh, by the way, how did you get on with your sleuthing, yesterday? After Mr Nicholls had left, I quite forgot to ask you."

"Oh… very well."

He frowned. "But you still won't tell me what's going on?"

"No." Hastily, she added, "You'll know in a day or two, I daresay, sir. At least… I hope so. Just… let me keep everything secret, just for now?"

"Very well, my dear. But… you'll tell me, as soon as you feel able?"

She nodded. "Yes. The very minute I can. I promise." She stood and set her glass aside. "Well, I'm going up."

"My dear," his voice halted her at the door. "It isn't dangerous? What you're doing?"

"No." She fixed a smile on her face as she turned around. "I shouldn't think so. Don't worry, sir."

Sir Anthony gave her an old-fashioned look. "I _always_ worry, Mrs Crawley."

* * *

Veronica nudged open the door to the Acanthus Room with her hip, her free hand still holding Flora's. "Here you are," she smiled faintly, her voice much softer than usual. Carefully, she set down Flora's carpet-bag on the rug by the fireplace, and poked her head around the bathroom door. "Baines has arranged everything, good chap. We'll get you out of your wet things, and then you can have a nice long soak and - "

"D-don't you w-want to know w-why I'm h-here?" Flora's teeth chattered and Veronica gripped her arms tightly and tugged her in front of the roaring fireplace. Briskly, like a mother undressing a small child, her fingers began to pluck at the hooks and eyes at the back of Flora's soaked gown, standing on her tiptoes to reach the first few.

"I don't need to," Veronica whispered. She cleared her throat. "When you've bathed and rested and had some food, we can telephone your papa… and Millbanke, of course… and let them know that you're safe, and - and when you'll be coming home."

"I'm not g-going back," Flora said firmly, or as firmly as she could, as her body trembled like a lake in high wind.

"Y-you _aren't_?" Veronica's fingers stilled suddenly against the laces of Flora's corset.

"No. I - I don't know wh-where I'm going, but n-not back there. I - I told G-George I c-couldn't m-marry him - "

"Bet he took that well," Veronica snorted.

Flora gave a wet laugh and shrugged out of her sodden frock, letting it drop to the hearth-rug. "Well, once he'd read my note, he - he came to call on me at home and he ranted and raved for a while, and then he told Papa and _he_ ranted and raved and - " She stopped.

"And what?" Veronica prompted gently.

"Well, he said… some rather uncharitable things." _Veronica didn't need to know _everything_ that had been said, after all._ "So I packed a bag and… and left." She chuckled, almost hysterically. "V, I've got the clothes I'm standing up in, a skirt, a blouse, another corset and a spare pair of stockings. That's all I own in the world. And I d-didn't know what to do, so I… got on the train and when I got to Ripon, I just started walking. And here I am. S-sorry."

"Nonsense - I'm _jolly_ glad that you _are_ here, and not lying dead in a ditch somewhere!" Veronica retorted; her hands, stroking down Flora's arms with the utmost gentleness, belied the anger in her voice. "You don't have to go back to him, Flora - to either of them, ever. I _promise_."

Flora turned and before Veronica knew what had happened, she had thrown her arms around her, pressing her cold, wet cheek to Veronica's. "I d-didn't love him. Y-You _do_ k-know that, d-don't you? I _never_ loved him. I was stupid and weak and - "

"_Never_. Oh, never, my dear." Veronica drew back quickly, squeezing her hands. "Come on, let's get you into that bath, hmm?"

Flora nodded, eyes on the carpet. She had never been 'my dear'-ed by Veronica in her _life_. "Th-thank you, for being so kind."

"Not a bit of it." Veronica's voice was forced and hearty. "The water should be delicious by now."

"There." Carefully, Veronica folded Flora's shift over her arm. "Not too hot?"

Up to her neck in bubbles, Flora shook her head. "Perfect. Thank you."

"_Stop thanking me_," Veronica insisted. "What did you think I was going to do? Slam the door in your face? _Honestly_." Flora ducked her head, a faint, sheepish grin on her face, as Veronica turned for the bathroom door. "Just ring when you're ready to get out. Mrs Rivers will get you settled. I'll… make sure there's a nightgown, and a tray ready for you. Soup and sandwiches all right?" Before Flora could answer, the door had shut with a soft snap.

Flora sank down to her chin in the water, closed her eyes, and began to sob.

Darling Veronica. So loyal and good, to take her in like this. But despite all the kindness she was showing her, Flora knew that something between them had been broken. All that was on offer now was pity. She'd become just another one of Veronica's strays. One of her charitable cases. Someone to be petted and soothed - and kept very firmly at arm's length.

_Oh, she had spoiled everything!_

* * *

In her study, Veronica sat down at the desk and closed her eyes briefly. _God. What a night!_

_Wasn't this what you wanted?_ that nasty little voice in the back of her head asked. Somehow, it always seemed to sound like her Mathematics mistress from school - a nastier woman had never drawn breath, Veronica was convinced. _Flora throwing herself at your mercy?_

"No," Veronica muttered herself. "It bloody well wasn't."

True enough, that. Whatever she had wanted - whatever she had begged Flora for - _this_ had not been it. Not even close. She hadn't wanted Flora homeless and destitute, only forced to come to Orton Park because she had nowhere else to go. That might have been some people's style, but it wasn't hers.

And the very last thing Flora needed now was for her to be… taking advantage of her. The hug in the bedroom had been bad enough - had made her heart thump like she'd just ridden a point-to-point - and then, to add insult to injury, she'd had to watch Flora getting into the bath too! Tightly, Veronica squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away those delightful, utterly unwelcome images.

No. She'd ensure that the staff looked after Flora, make arrangements for her future security… and stay firmly at arm's length until Flora was in a position for them to talk sensibly. It was the only thing - the only _honourable_ thing - to be done.

Still with her eyes firmly shut, Veronica groped for the telephone and lifted the receiver to her ear.

"Operator?" Veronica asked into the telephone. "Highgate 126, thank you… Good evening, Mrs Hartley… Veronica Orton here… yes, very well, thank you - and you? And the children?… Oh, I _am_ glad. I wonder, I know it's terribly late, but might I speak to your husband?… Thank you… Hartley? Hello, Veronica Orton here… Sorry for the late call, it couldn't be helped… I'd like to make arrangements to settle some money on a - a friend of mine… Lady Flora Stanhope… Yes. Five thousand pounds. No, I'm _entirely_ serious. Not a penny less. It's to be done immediately. Make the arrangements, and I'll come down to London on Thursday morning to sign whatever you need me to sign… Yes, thank you." She pinched the bridge of her nose tiredly. "No, I'm not, as it happens - nothing to do with you. Sorry, and… thank you again. Goodnight, Hartley."

"Madam?" Baines' polite knock at the open study door made her look up, and smile wanly.

"Oh, what is it, Baines?"

Baines bowed his head. "Lady Flora is settled, madam - Mrs Rivers has just taken a tray up to her. I believe mention was made of a hot water bottle, too."

"Good. Excellent. Thank you, Baines."

Baines shuffled a little awkwardly on his feet. "I… believe that her ladyship was asking for you, madam. She… appeared to be… in some considerable distress."

"I see." Baines saw Miss Orton's jaw tighten faintly, and she swallowed, before adding, very firmly, "Please send up my apologies, Baines. I'll… go and check on her in the morning. Ask Mrs Rivers to make sure she has everything she needs - don't stint at all."

"Very good, madam."

Veronica stood, and turned to face the window, hands clasped behind her back. If he had not known better, Baines would have sworn that he saw those strong, sturdy shoulders crumple fractionally, before straightening again. "And when you've seen to all that, Baines… would it be too demanding of me to ask you to favour me with a game of billiards? I could do with… being distracted."

Baines, a professional amongst professionals, bowed deeply and did not comment, not even in his own head, about the oddity - verging on impropriety - of such a request. He had been butler here since Miss Veronica had been in swaddling-clothes, and _never_ had he seen her so shaken about. A game of billiards was really the least he could offer.

"It would be my honour, madam."

Veronica turned her head and gave him a grateful smile. "You're a _wonderful_ fellow, Baines."


	36. Confrontations Part One

"Now," Edith said to Hannah, "you're sure of what you need to do?"

Hannah nodded. "Absolutely sure, miss."

"And just remember, Sergeant Oakes and I will be listening inside the kitchen, ready to take action. Won't we, sergeant?"

"Aye, miss." Sergeant Oakes frowned. "I only wish I could persuade you to be far away from it all, miss. Obviously, we need Miss Raikes' help, but _you_ \- "

"I'm not going anywhere, sergeant." Edith's voice was quiet but firm. "I have _just_ as much interest in seeing Mr Grey pay for his crimes, trust me." She thought she'd go to her grave still remembering what Pip's head had felt like in her lap on that horrid car journey to the hospital; what it had felt like to see him unconscious and soaked in the middle of the road; what it had been like to see Sir Anthony utterly lose control of his composure and weep in terror for his son. Yes, she wanted to see Larry Grey pay for that.

Sergeant Oakes sighed and shrugged. "As you wish, miss. But you must promise to stay quiet and still - and keep back if he turns nasty."

"Yes, all right."

At the window, Hannah Raikes turned back. "I can hear a horse in the lane. I'm sure it must be him."

"Quick, then," Sergeant Oakes replied. "Into the scullery, Miss Crawley."

She and the sergeant huddled there in the dimness of the little room, Edith's heart hammering so loudly that she was sure Mr Grey and Miss Raikes would be able to hear it from next door. They heard a sharp knock on the front door, Hannah opening it, and then: "Well?" she heard Larry's voice ask coldly. "What do you want?"

"It's all over the village!" Hannah hissed back. "That I'm with child. That I've not got a husband on the horizon - "

"Well, what do you want me to do about that?" Larry retorted. "Be sensible, my dear girl. It isn't as if _I_ can marry you."

Edith's tummy flipped; next to her Sergeant Oakes stifled a quiet exclamation of mingled anger and shock.

"No," agreed Hannah quietly, "but you _can_ do what you promised Johnnie when he let himself get locked up for summat he didn't do!" Her voice trembled and Edith marvelled at what a good actress she was.

"What do _you_ know about that?" Larry asked sharply.

"Enough to get you locked up," Hannah threatened. "My dad's on the verge of throwing me out - and if he _does_, don't think I'll lose a wink of sleep over telling every newspaper and gossipmonger between here and London _just_ what the Honourable Laurence Grey is capable of!"

A harsh chuckle - Larry's. "Tell the world, if you like. Tell the world I knocked that little wretch off his bicycle and got Owens to take the blame. Who do you think would believe the word of a stupid little slut?" Larry wondered silkily. "I'd have you in the dock for slander quicker than you could say 'Jack Robinson.' I promise. So if you want to get so much as a penny out of me, you'll keep your pretty little mouth shut."

"Which is precisely what _you_ should have done, Mr Grey," announced Sergeant Oakes, pushing the scullery door open and emerging, Edith behind him.

The look on Grey's face was almost comical. "You - you - !" He glared past Oakes at Edith. "I suppose this was all _your_ idea."

"Yes," Edith said, almost proudly. "And hopefully you'll have a _very_ long time in prison to think about it."

"You little - !" The end of Larry's curse was drowned out by his own howl of sudden rage as he launched himself at Edith, like a trapped animal.

Everything happened very quickly.

Hannah screamed.

Oakes was knocked aside by Larry.

And then his fingers closed around Edith's throat.

* * *

"Good morning." Flora's voice was quiet and polite as she knocked at Veronica's open study door.

Veronica looked up from the papers in front of her; there were purple shadows like bruises under her eyes and she still wore the clothes she'd been in the night before. Her dark hair, soft and curly, was tumbling down from its pins, as if it had had a hand run repeatedly through it in frustration. Next to her, Flora looked positively angelic: neat as a new pin (thanks to Mrs Rivers' ministrations) in her skirt and blouse, her golden hair plaited in a simple braid down her back, the loose strands kept out of her face with a scarf. Really, she looked more like a teenage girl on the verge of her come-out, rather than a young woman who had been on the brink of matrimony.

"Good morning," Veronica managed, in tones of perfect, determined cheerfulness. "Sleep all right?"

"Mmm, thank you." Flora hovered on the doorstep. "M-may I come in? I'm not disturbing you, I hope?"

"No. Of course not." Veronica stood and gestured to the armchair in front of the fire. "Help yourself."

Hesitantly, Flora crept in and settled herself in the chair, tucking her legs beneath her. "How do you feel?" Veronica asked. She was still standing next to the desk, in just her blouse and brown wool split-skirt, her jacket discarded over the back of her desk chair. Flora thought, vaguely, that she looked even smaller and more awkward than usual. "A-any fever? Sore throat?"

"No," Flora reassured her. "Bright as a button. Thanks to you, and Baines, and Mrs Rivers."

"I'll be sure to pass on your thanks."

Flora's lip quivered. "I can't _ever_ repay your kindness, Veronica." She sucked in a breath, and then admitted, "Q-quite literally. There's n-no point in trying to conceal it. He's cut me off. Papa."

Veronica sighed ruefully and tapped the papers on the desk. "Yes, I… rather thought that that might happen. Not known for his gentle temper, is he, your father? I… _was_ going to wait until the end of the week, after everything was signed, but… I might as well tell you now."

"Tell me what?" Flora's voice was barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

Veronica avoided her eye. Instead, she turned and began tidying the desk with quick, efficient movements. "I telephoned my man of business, Hartley, last night - he's putting in motion… certain instructions. I'm going to settle a - a small competency on you. Enough to ensure that you'll be able to set up your own establishment, wherever you like, and… live comfortably. Y-you won't ever have to be reliant on - on _anyone_, ever again - not your papa, not George." Slowly, Veronica turned around, a tiny, melancholic smile on her face. "Not - not anyone."

Flora watched her in silence for a moment, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. At length, she stood and brushed her skirts out. "I thank you for your generosity," she swallowed, her voice firm despite the tremor in it. "But I regret, I cannot accept." Roughly, she brushed away a tear on her cheek. "I did not come here because I hoped to - to become one of your _charitable causes_, Veronica."

Veronica still would not look properly at her. Instead, she turned and walked to the window briskly, her hands clasped tightly behind her. "Then what _did_ you hope for, Flora?"

"Whatever it was, I - I fear that I am no longer deserving of it." Behind her, Veronica heard light, tentative footsteps. "I fear that - that I have injured past repairing someone for whom I - I care very deeply."

Veronica shrugged, in that half-boyish way she had. "You don't need to worry about me. Broad shoulders, these, Flora."

Gently, Flora reached out and touched her cheek with a light finger. "Darling V. Please look at me. Even if it's only to show me how much you despise me - "

Veronica's head whipped around. Now it was her turn to look astonished. "I don't _despise_ you."

"You wouldn't come upstairs when I asked for you, last night," Flora pointed out hesitantly.

"No, but that wasn't - oh, _hell!_" Veronica stopped and unclasped her hands from behind her back. This done, she leant backwards and braced herself against the window ledge. "I forget, sometimes, living here, what a - a bloody circus London is. People here… well, my proclivities are no _secret_, but they don't pry and they don't gossip, really, and they don't require me to… to squeeze myself into a little conventional box. But in London… well, they aren't so forgiving. You'd think they might be, but…" Veronica bit her lip and fell silent.

"I don't understand."

"The reason I didn't come and see you…" Veronica tipped her chin back bravely and then pressed on: "Well, one day you _are_ going to find someone you want to spend your life with, and it'll be no use to you to have a scandal like - like _me_ hanging over your head. Or for you to feel… _obligated_ to me in some way." She sniffed and gave Flora a watery grin. "Just promise me that next time it'll be someone a damn sight better than George Millbanke, all right? You're worth ten of him, any day."

"V - "

"It's all right. I just… I didn't want those gossiping vultures in London to think that I'd tried to take advantage of you." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I didn't want _you_ to think I was trying to take advantage."

"Oh, my _darling_…" exhaled Flora and flung her arms around a stunned Veronica. "I'd rather _every_ door in London be slammed in my face than risk ever, _ever_ having to leave you again. I've already _found_ the person I want to spend the rest of my life with, you silly goose, and I was just too frightened and weak to admit it - to myself, to you… Veronica, _can you ever forgive me?_"

For a moment there was perfect silence and perfect stillness - and then Veronica's mouth managed to catch her ear, and then her cheek, and then she dragged Flora's mouth down to her own, and kissed her soundly. "I should never have let you go. When I found you, I should have seized hold of you and _kept_ hold of you." She let out a shuddering, tearful laugh. "And then when George proposed, I thought I should do the decent, honourable thing and let you go - let you have the life everyone else wanted for you - and I didn't think for a moment about whether that was the life _you_ wanted to have and - "

"Don't," Flora gasped, "don't _ever_ be honourable or decent again. I want you to be thoroughly _in_decent and _dis_honourable - "

"Miss Orton?" Baines' voice outside the study door made them jump apart suddenly. "Miss Orton, there's a gentleman here to see you and Lady Flora. A Mr George Millbanke."


	37. Confrontations Part Two

"The doctor's left, sir." Mrs Dale's voice was quiet as she set down a cup of tea at Anthony's elbow. The house had been in uproar ever since the police car had arrived, bearing Sergeant Oakes, a shaken Hannah Raikes - and a fainting Mrs Crawley. Dr Clarkson had been summoned, Sergeant Oakes had returned to the police station to deal with his arrest, and Mrs Crawley had been taken upstairs by Mrs Dale to recover.

"And she's still not come round properly?" Sir Anthony asked. His secretary had seemed very dazed, and although conscious, not quite 'all there.'

"She did for a moment, while the doctor was examining her," Mrs Dale replied, "but she's sleeping now."

"And… does he say…?" Anthony couldn't finish the sentence.

"He says she'll be _perfectly_ all right with plenty of rest," Mrs Dale reassured him. "There's a bit of bruising, but he didn't actually crush her throat."

"Thank God," he managed, although even the mere _thought_ of that made his stomach churn. He stood and lifted the tea cup, before setting it down again undrunk. "I - I may go up and sit with her, for a while. Just in case. I'll leave the door open, of course."

"Of course, sir." Mrs Dale coughed. "Although, you may want to come and see Miss Raikes first, sir. She's in the kitchen with Mrs Cox - and very worried about Mrs Crawley. I think you could reassure her, a little."

"Yes," Anthony nodded. "Added to which, I'd like to hear _precisely_ what happened…"

* * *

Flora's hand squeezed tightly around Veronica's fingers at Baines' announcement. "Darling…"

"I'll deal with him," Veronica reassured her.

"No," Flora replied, trembly but firm. "_We'll_ deal with him."

Out in the hall, George waited, red-faced and pacing, and somehow _just_ how Veronica had imagined him. "Ah, there you are," he snapped without preamble as Flora appeared. "Are you ready to forget all this foolish nonsense and come home?"

Flora sighed. "Hello, George. I thought I had made myself clear when we spoke last… I'm not coming home."

"Flora," he replied impatiently, "the wedding is in three days' time. And I was up at the crack of dawn to catch the milk-train - do you _really_ think I've nothing better to be doing with my time than chasing you around the blasted country?"

"No, and I'm sorry, but there it is." Her voice was very quiet but very firm. "I've already said I can't marry you, I said it and I _meant_ it. And I didn't ask you to catch the milk-train, either."

"I hope you realise that your mother was taken so ill by your - your _antics_ that she's taken to her bed?" George challenged her.

Flora swallowed as Veronica's hand crept into hers, squeezing faintly. "I'm very sorry to hear that." Her lip trembled. "George, I'm not as heartless as you believe. Please… when you go back to London, give Mama _all_ my love, and tell her - "

"You'll be branded a jilt, you know," George warned her, leaning in until his nose was nearly touching hers. At this range, Flora and Veronica could both smell the reek of stale alcohol on his breath. "No one else'll touch you with a barge-pole. I'll see to it. You'll end a dried-up old spinster who - "

Veronica intervened, loudly. "I think you _have_ Lady Flora's answer, Mr Millbanke. Can we offer you some tea before you go? Or are you in a hurry to get back to London? We shan't detain you."

George looked positively apoplectic. "And I suppose this is all _your_ doing!" His lip curled, as if Veronica were the most disgusting creature he had ever laid eyes on. "I've met women like you before, _Miss_ Orton. You can't get a man yourself, so you choose to prey on girls instead. Smashing windows and bleating on about women's rights - they should bring back hanging for - for _inverts_ like you."

Flora gasped. "George - "

Veronica's chin tipped back and she let out a little huff of laughter. "Oh, Mr Millbanke, do you say such nice things in Parliament? Or do you save them all up just for your friends?"

George's eyes were back on Flora. "_You're_ just as bad. Trying to trick me into marriage, when all the while you were…" His throat worked convulsively. "Has she had you? Is that it? You wouldn't even _kiss_ me, but you've let _her_ under your skirts?"

Flora closed her eyes, bright red with shame and backing away. George took a step forward - and then Veronica was in front of him. "If you were a man, Millbanke," she said, very softly and clearly, "and if you weren't so _obviously_ intoxicated, I'd take you outside and thrash you for speaking like that to a lady." She stepped back, closer to Flora. "As it is, I'll settle for your leaving my house and never darkening my door again. Baines!"

"Madam?" Mr Baines popped up as if by magic, his face set.

"Mr Millbanke is leaving," Veronica bit out as George spluttered incoherently. "_Immediately_. Show him out, would you?"

"With _pleasure_, madam."

* * *

Mrs Crawley was as pale as milk, save the livid purple bruises around her throat, the imprints of Larry Grey's fingers. It made the gorge rise in Anthony's throat even to look at it for too long - at what that brute had put her through. Her hair hung in red-gold curls down her shoulders, and she lay perfectly motionless, with only the slow rise and fall of her chest to signal that she was still alive.

Anthony sank slowly into the bedside chair and reached for her hand, which lay atop the bedclothes. Gently, carefully, he covered it with his own. It was so tiny and soft and all Anthony wanted to do was to gather her up and hold her close and ensure that nothing and no one harmed her _ever_ again. "Well, my dear," he murmured at length, "this _is_ a scrape, isn't it? Why on _earth_ didn't you tell me what you were planning, hmm? I've telephoned Sir Richard, just to let someone know. And Mr Pelham, of course. He says he'll look in this evening - he was in a devil of a fuss about you." His gentle smile became sad. "Good thing, too, if you're going to marry him, my dear. I wouldn't have been quite easy if he'd been at all calm about it."

Edith did not even stir.

"And Hannah Raikes was terribly anxious too," Anthony pressed on. "Mrs Dale's put her in one of the guest rooms to close her eyes. Not good for an expectant mother to have so much worry, you know. You two seem to have made a splendid team. She tells me she clouted Grey over the head with a jug - clever girl. Knocked him clean out. Anyway, Sergeant Oakes seems pretty confident that they'll be able to get him into the dock, after his little confession. And I'll pop down to the prison later on to see if I can put in a word for Owens. Deal with the perjury charge."

He cleared his throat quietly. "You _do_ seem to have rather a talent for trouble, my dear. I'll be almost sorry not to see what other scrapes you manage to get yourself into. But I suppose we shan't see so very much of you, once you're married. I'll miss that, you know." His voice cracked. "I'll miss your smile, and when you say good morning to me, and your cleverness, and your laugh… and a _thousand_ other things about you." He sniffed. "You must forgive me, my dear. I… rather think I've fallen for you, a little. A lot. Isn't that ridiculous?" His smile faded.

"Please wake up, darling girl. _Pl-please_."

* * *

Baines knocked loudly on the closed drawing room door and silently counted to ten before opening the door, carrying in the tea tray with the maximum amount of noise and fuss. Luckily, when he chanced a glance at the sofa, Miss Orton and Lady Flora were seated a proper distance from each other. There was nothing improper about the scene at all, in fact - save for the fact that Miss Orton was breathing a touch heavier than might be expected for a young woman engaged in the sedate activity of taking tea, and that Lady Flora's hand appeared to be twitching her skirt back into neatness.

Inwardly, Baines raised his eyebrows as he placed the tea tray on the table in front of them. But at least that haunted, pinched look had gone from Miss Orton's face, and Lady Flora didn't appear to be about to burst into tears again. If there was one thing the old butler couldn't stand, it was fits of feminine emotion.

"Mrs Buckley wonders if it would be convenient to come upstairs and discuss next week's menus with you, madam," he announced primly as he turned the milk jug a quarter-turn to the left.

Miss Orton and Lady Flora exchanged glances, the one querying, the other reassuring, and then Lady Flora gave Baines a brilliant smile. "Actually, Baines, from now on… _I_ will be dealing with the menus. Once I've had my tea, I'll go down and speak to Mrs Buckley. I'm sure she's far too busy to come up."

Baines blinked momentarily, and then, with supreme professionalism, replied, "Very good, my lady. I shall inform Mrs Buckley at once."

"And… you're sure this is what you want?" asked Veronica tremblingly as the door shut on Baines's back.

Flora slid closer again, resting her head happily on Veronica's shoulder. "_Yes_." She sighed. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now, my darling." She looked up, her eyes wide and solemn. "If… if we're going to do this - build a life together and share this house… then you must let me… let me do these things. I might not know a thing about farms or building repairs, but I can jolly well run a house to perfection." Biting her lip, she whispered smilingly, "Say what you like about Mama, but she taught me very well, you know. I can be an _excellent _wife."

"Can you?" Veronica wondered breathlessly.

"Of course," Flora grinned, almost wickedly. "Why on _earth_ do you think George wanted to marry me?"

* * *

Edith stirred, blinking up at the room. "Oh, thank the _Lord_ you're awake!" sighed Mrs Dale with relief. "What on _earth_ did you think you were doing!?"

Edith swallowed thickly and winced. Her throat was on fire. "Sergeant Oakes arrested Mr Grey?"

"_Yes_." Mrs Dale's face creased with approval. "Good riddance."

"And Miss Raikes? She's all right?"

"Downstairs with the master - she had a little nap here, woke up about half an hour ago. She was very worried about you." Mrs Dale shook her head in exasperation as a faint smile spread over Edith's face. "And I don't know _what_ you're got to be smiling at, either - worrying us all half to death, my girl!"

Edith shook her head. She remembered a kind, gentle voice, saying such sweet things… She screwed up her face, trying to get it all straight in her mind, but it only made her head throb.

Carefully, she blinked up at Mrs Dale. "I don't know. I… was just having the _loveliest_ dream…"


	38. Safely Gathered In

"And you're really all right?" Pip pressed anxiously. "Really _truly_?"

"Really truly," Edith confirmed. "Just a bit… bashed about."

Pip grinned. "Well, you said you'd box his ears for him, Mrs C. - and you _did_!"

"Well, _I_ didn't actually get to do any of the boxing," Edith pointed out dryly. "You have Miss Raikes to thank for that."

"And she really bashed him over the head with a jug?" Pip frowned. "Did he knock _her_ off a bicycle too?"

Edith smiled faintly. "Not… _quite_, my dear, no. But he behaved very badly towards her in another way. Just… not one for which the police can arrest him. Unfortunately."

"What'll happen when she has her baby, Mrs C.?"

"I don't know, my dear." Edith shook her head sadly. "I don't know."

"Do you think Papa could help?" Pip wondered.

"I do hope so, my dear."

"He's been a bit mysterious, this morning," Pip confided. "Maybe he's got a plan already."

At that moment, the door opened and Mrs Dale came in. "Mrs Crawley, Sir Richard's downstairs."

"Oh." Edith swallowed. "I see. Pip, can you bring him up, please?"

"Right-o, Mrs C. Is he going to scold?"

Edith laughed weakly. "I think he might, yes."

She wasn't wrong.

"What in _God's_ name did you think you were doing?!" Richard demanded the moment he was shown into her bedchamber.

Edith set aside her book with a faint sigh and accepted Richard's cross kiss to her cheek. "Hello, Richard. How was your journey?"

"Terrifying!" he replied, sitting down. "I spent it wondering what state I'd find you in when I got here."

"I'm really perfectly all right. Sir Anthony shouldn't have worried you unnecessarily."

"You nearly get throttled by a madman and _I'm_ worrying unnecessarily?" Richard gaped. "Edith - "

"Richard, _please_. It was… a stupid scrape, that's all. I'm fine - and not in any hurry to do anything silly again, I promise."

"I've heard that one before, my girl," Richard replied severely. "Between you and Sybil, I'm at my wits' end."

"Wh-what's she done this time?" Edith wondered; the knowledge of Sybil's letter burned uncomfortably in the back of her mind.

"Oh, nothing in particular," Richard sighed, exasperated. "Just… every time there's news of a new suffragette attack, she's gleeful for days afterwards."

"Well, you can hardly blame her for that," Edith shrugged. At Richard's glare, she added, "Well, you _can't_! She agrees with them, and it frustrates her that she can't do anything to support them publicly. I'm not at all sure that it wouldn't do her good to spend a stint in a prison cell - it might temper her a bit."

Richard's face relaxed, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "No, thank you. Although - Lord, I'd pity the poor gaoler who had to try to force-feed her!"

Edith chuckled. "Is everything else all right? You look… tired, Richard."

"Just work. I've… not been at home as often as I'd have liked recently." He lifted a dry eyebrow. "You know how Mary hates it when I have to spend so much time at the office. I was meant to take her to a play at the Gaiety last week and had to cancel and… we've not been quite easy with each other ever since."

Edith clucked her tongue sympathetically. "Oh, you know how she is. She'll be cross and aloof for a week or so, but she'll come down from it eventually. I shouldn't _worry_ about it."

"No." He forced a smile. "Anyway… you're ill, and here I am burdening you with all of my problems."

"I'm not _ill_, Richard - and I'm sorry you've had to come all this way, if you're busy."

"Not at all. I got some work done on the train. Your Sir Anthony has offered me a room for the night and I'll go back to town tomorrow morning."

"He isn't _my_ Sir Anthony," Edith answered, a little too quickly.

Richard frowned. "It's only a - turn of phrase, Edith. Tell me about Mr Pelham, anyway. I gather he's ready to propose."

"What makes you say that?"

"He wrote to me. Last week. Asking for permission."

Edith's eyes widened. "I see. He… didn't mention it. I mean… I knew he wanted to propose, at some point - just not… quite yet. Did you - how did you answer?"

"I told him that if he wanted to marry you, and you had no objection, it was really none of my concern. You're of age and I think you're intelligent enough to make up your own mind without _my_ interference."

Edith let out a little laugh. "Gosh! How frightfully modern of you, Richard! If you told Sybil _that_, she'd love you forever."

* * *

"All this uproar with Larry Grey - it's quite overset us!"

"Yes, I'm sure," Veronica replied smoothly. In truth, the 'uproar' had quite passed Orton Park and her residents by. Veronica had spent the last few days in a cocoon of utter bliss. It felt as if her chest were full of sunlight, liable to burst out without warning, at the oddest of moments.

This one, for example, as Flora squeezed her shoulder (in lieu of the usual kiss to the top of her head that was their custom when alone) as she passed her her whisky. Veronica flashed her a quick smile of gratitude, and Flora's eyes crinkled cheerfully in reply.

"Poor Edith," Flora sympathised, taking the seat next to Claudia on the sofa. "Perhaps I shall drop in on her tomorrow, and see how she's feeling."

"Good idea," Veronica approved. "She's been _jolly_ plucky - her and Hannah Raikes both."

"But what does it say about her character," Ginny Fyfe wondered, a little spitefully, "if she's willing to associate with women like _that_?"

"I imagine," Flora announced casually, not looking up from her glass of sherry, "that it shows her to be a person above catty, cruel gossip, Ginny. A lesson to us all, don't you think?"

* * *

"Well, you told Ginny Fyfe all right," Veronica grinned, sitting down on the edge of the bed and beginning to unbutton her shirt.

Flora, already in her nightgown, twisted her head round to look fondly at Veronica. "She just… rubs me up the wrong way, V. We're going to have to do something about her, you know. _Not_ the sort of woman you want in the car club at _all._"

"All Janey's fault, I'm afraid, m'dear. She's a sweetheart, but I honestly think the only person she can stand up to is William."

Flora sighed. "Leave it with me. I'll think of _something_ we can use against her."

Veronica let out a surprised laugh. "I've set up home with a scheming minx!"

Flora raised an eyebrow. "You do say the _nicest_ things, darling."

"And you're really going to visit Edith tomorrow?"

"After what Ginny Fyfe said about her? Of course!" She shook her head. "I wonder that Sir Anthony can _stand_ having the woman among his acquaintance."

* * *

By the following day, Edith had been permitted to move downstairs to the sofa in the drawing room, although she was still strictly on 'the sick list' and therefore not permitted to do any work.

Here it was that Mrs Dale found her. "Lady Flora Stanhope's come to see you, my lamb. Are you feeling up to a visit?"

Edith smiled. "Yes. Thank you, Mrs Dale."

Flora swept in, looking much more the thing than she had done the last time Edith had seen her. In fact, Edith did not think she had ever seen her looking so well as she did just then - taller, somehow, and more self-confident. The large emerald engagement ring had gone, she noted, and in its place rested an unobtrusive signet ring that Edith was sure belonged to Veronica. "How are you feeling?" Flora held up a parcel tied with string. "I raided the library at Orton before I came - Veronica has an excellent selection of thoroughly unedifying novels, just the thing when you're ill. Somehow, I thought Locksley's offerings might be more highbrow than you were up to, just now."

Edith, who had spent the morning devouring _Bleak House_, grinned nonetheless. "Thank you. Do sit down. And… how are you?"

Flora returned the grin. "Much better than I was three days' ago. Funny to think I'd have been getting married today."

"So… you're staying with Veronica… for good?" Edith pressed gently.

"Yes." A very definite answer.

"Why… why didn't you marry Mr Millbanke?" Edith wondered hesitantly, although she thought she knew the answer already.

"Because he wasn't the right person." Flora's face and voice were perfectly serene.

"And… Veronica is?" Edith chanced.

Flora lifted her eyebrows. "Honestly? She's so right that it should frighten me - except it doesn't. It just makes me feel… safe and at home."

"I see." Edith looked out of the window for a moment, and when she looked back, Flora was watching her closely.

"Have I embarrassed you?"

"No," Edith hastened to reassure her. "I just… wonder what that would be like."

"I thought you'd know." Flora bit her lip. "Your Mr Pelham's on the verge of popping the question, isn't he? Everyone says so - or is that just the gossip mill grinding nonsense again?"

"No," Edith replied. "He _is_ about to propose."

"But you don't appear to know what love is."

"Does that matter?" Edith shrugged. "He isn't unpleasant. I like him, an awful lot."

"All very well if you're dancing with him at a ball, my dear," Flora winced, "not quite good enough if you're planning to walk down the aisle with him."

"It isn't that simple."

"Well… I suppose you know best." There was silence for a moment, and then Flora burst out, "I'm sorry, can I give you some advice?"

"All right."

"Nothing is worse than marrying the wrong person. _Nothing_. Just… think about it? Before you make any decisions you might regret later?" She gave Edith a wry look. "I _am_ speaking from experience, you know."

"Yes. Of course." Edith frowned. "But… but if the choice were between… marrying someone that you - that you didn't quite love and being alone for the rest of your life - "

"Then I would take being alone every single time, Edith. Truly."

"Really?"

"_Yes_. Can you doubt it?" Flora sighed and stood. "Well, I'll leave you to rest now. I think I've preached enough. But… will you think about what I've said?"

Edith nodded. "Y-yes. I will. Thank you for the books, Flora."

* * *

By the end of the week, Edith felt much better, and had returned to her desk. Miss Raikes was still staying at Locksley - just for the time being, "until everything could be settled", Sir Anthony said. Whatever that meant.

"I've a surprise for you," Sir Anthony announced to Edith one morning, "if you're well enough for a run out in the car."

"Well, you can't say something like that and then expect me to say no, sir!" Edith protested, laughing. "All right - let me fetch my coat."

As he turned the car out of the gates, Edith asked, "Where _are_ we going?"

"To collect a friend," he winked at her.

Edith blinked, still mystified, as they drove on into York… and pulled up outside a very severe looking building.

"Sir?"

"Ah, here's our friend now," Sir Anthony smiled, nodding towards the prison gates as they creaked open.

As John Owens walked hesitantly out of prison, Edith turned to him, her eyes shining. "Oh! _However_ did you manage it?"

He ducked his head, a faint blush of sheepish pleasure on his cheeks. "Oh, you know… had a word with a few of the right people… pointed out that Mr Owens was only doing the honourable thing in seeking to protect the reputation of the woman he loved… and, well, I must have been at least a little persuasive. They're dropping all charges."

"Oh, how _marvellous_!" The quick squeeze of the hand that she gave him was worth more than he could say, as was the look of utter admiration in her eyes.

"And - " He made to continue, but stopped as Owens reached the car. Sir Anthony got out and shook hands with the thunderstruck young man. "Hello, Owens. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you, sir. I've you to thank for getting me out, I hear."

"Oh, no." Sir Anthony ushered him into the back of the Rolls. "In fact, it was all the doing of my secretary, Mrs Crawley… and Miss Raikes."

"Hannah?" Owens' voice was suddenly sharper. "Is she… all right?"

"Quite all right," Sir Anthony reassured him. "Staying at Locksley just now, in fact. You can see her when we get there. Now, I thought we might have a chat about your future…"

* * *

By the time they had reached Locksley, Owens looked as if all his Christmases had come at once, and he did not seem able to stop thanking Sir Anthony. "I think," Anthony smiled gently, "that it might be nice for Mrs Crawley to take you upstairs to - Stewart, where is Miss Raikes?"

"Up in the sitting room, sir," Stewart informed him, as he took their coats.

"Up to the sitting room, then, Mrs Crawley," Sir Anthony finished. "And you can… talk it all over with her."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Miss Raikes?" Edith poked her head around the door. Hannah was on the sofa, knitting needles clicking away as she worked on some small, unidentifiable item of baby wear. She smiled at Edith's greeting.

"Hello, Mrs Crawley!"

"I've brought someone to see you." Edith's grin widened as she stepped back and pushed the door open more fully for Mr Owens to enter. Hannah stared, the knitting utterly forgotten.

"Hello, Hannah."

Carefully, Miss Raikes stood up. "Hello, John."

"I'll leave you to talk," Edith murmured and slipped away. For a moment, they stood frozen, and then John stepped hesitantly forwards and shut the door behind him.

"Well… how do?"

"I'm all right," she shrugged. "You?"

"Aye, not bad." A small smile crept on to his face. "You're… blooming. How's the little 'un?"

"Lively." At that, she covered her face with her hands and began to sob. She heard quick footsteps, and then felt his arm slide around her. Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder, guiding them both onto the sofa.

"There, there, love," he said quietly. "Don't cry. You'll make yourself ill if you carry on like that. There, there." At length, Hannah's tears stopped and she looked up, swiping her hand under her eyes to dry them.

"I've been speaking to Sir Anthony," John explained. "He says his sister in America's looking for a chauffeur. Says he can get me the job, if that's what I want."

"America." Hannah swallowed. "What a chance. You should tell him yes."

"I have," John nodded. "And… he says Mrs Chetwood wouldn't… wouldn't mind if - if I wanted to get wed, either. I wouldn't have to give up the place."

"That's kind of her." Looking away, Hannah took a deep breath. The last thing she needed now was to go to pieces in front of him again. In her mind's eye, she saw his future stretched out in front of her - a pretty, _virtuous_ wife, a gaggle of children, a steady job… And if she hadn't been so _stupid_, it might have been her future too. "I'm - I'm very happy for you, Johnnie."

"Mmm." He coughed, and then she felt his hand settling warmly, hesitantly over hers. "So… how about it, eh?"

She looked up at him, confused. "How about what?"

"Marrying me, and coming to America. How about it?"

"What about the baby?" Her trembling chin firmed. "I - I'm going to keep it, whatever happens."

"Lass, you could come to me with half an orphanage, if you wanted." He straightened his shoulders, and his fingers fell from hers to twist anxiously at his cap. "I'll do right by you, if you marry me. Look after you, and the little 'un. Make you happy, or do my best, anyway. And… I'm done with the drink, too. Won't ever touch another drop - all the trouble it's got us into. If I'd been - well, been better… you'd happen not have taken up with Mr Larry and…" He shrugged. "Look, just… think on it, will you? I can wait."

"Have you said owt to Dad?" Hannah wondered.

He shook his head. "No." He blushed. "Reckon he'd be pleased to see you wed to _anyone_, what with… what with everything. But I didn't want you to think I was trying to… back you into a corner or owt."

Hannah nodded. "Thanks. But… you don't have to do this, you know. I'll tell everyone, if you like, that you had nothing to - to do with me being… you know. I'll be all right."

"I know you will." He smiled. "Sir Anthony told me you walloped Mr Larry over the head."

"He was trying to strangle Mrs Crawley. I had to do something."

His answering chuckle was genuine. "I think you said that when you pushed Tommy Richard down half a flight of stairs, didn't you? What were we, thirteen?"

Hannah fought a smile. "Well, what did he expect, going around pinching girls' bums?"

"I know you'll be all right," John repeated. "But… I'd like you to be all right _with_ _me_, if it's all the same." He sighed. "I love you, Hannah. I've loved you since we were both kids ourselves." While she was absorbing that, he nodded and stood, apparently embarrassed by so much honest confession. "Well, that's all I came to say, so I'll be off. Cheerio. Look after yourself."

"Y-you love me?" Hannah's voice stopped him at the door. "Even… even after I've… been with another man? Y-you _still_ love me?"

"_Yes_. I still love you." He grinned faintly. "Daft apeth."

* * *

"That was a _lovely_ thing you did for Mr Owens, sir," Edith offered as they watched Owens leave half an hour later.

"Well, I couldn't leave an innocent man languishing in a prison cell, could I?"

"Not that," Edith corrected him, good-naturedly. "The job with Mrs Chetwood. You didn't have to do _that._"

Sir Anthony shrugged. "She's looking for someone reliable and loyal. Who better than a man willing to go to prison for the woman he loves?" he asked, as if it were the most sensible thing in the world.

"What do you think will happen with him and Miss Raikes?" Edith wondered. "It's obvious that she's in love with him."

"If the boy has any sense - which I strongly suspect he does - he'll ask her to marry him."

Edith turned away from the window. "Even with the baby?"

"Even with the baby. He's obviously in love with her too, you see, my dear." His smile was inexplicably rather sad. "And that makes all the difference in the world."


	39. Families

_Nothing is worse than marrying the wrong person. Nothing._

Flora's words went round and round in Edith's head, just as they had been ever since her visit the other day. Really, Edith did not know what to think.

On the one hand, of course, she knew that Flora was right. Despite the blows life had dealt her, Edith was still a romantic at heart. She wanted to love, and to be loved, and the thought of going without either in her marriage was achingly painful.

On the other hand… Edith sighed, not noticing that Sir Anthony had lifted his head from his desk, where he was writing a letter to Mr Forrester, and was watching her closely. Bertie wasn't a bad chap. He _did_ love her, even if she didn't exactly love him just now. And who knew? Once they had been married for a while, once they had started to have children… perhaps that love would grow. He wouldn't mistreat her, or make it at all difficult to care for him. Perhaps it would be all right. Look at Hannah and John - they were forging on with plans for a hasty wedding before they left for America at the end of the month. Then again, Hannah did love him, whatever she had felt for Larry Grey.

But of course, none of that could happen unless she told him everything. Marrying a man without love was one thing, marrying him in a lie was quite another…

"Mrs Crawley?" asked Mrs Dale, at the door, shaking Edith from her rather unpleasant reverie. "Lord Merton's here to see you."

"Oh, _Lord_," Edith whispered. He was here to rant at her, she was sure. To have her explain why she felt it necessary to have his oldest son locked up. The panic rose in her throat, and she croaked, "Sir - "

"I'll stay, if you like," he reassured her hastily. "In fact, show his lordship in here, would you, Mrs Dale?"

"Thank you," Edith murmured fervently, as the housekeeper advanced into the hall to collect their visitor, and then rising to her feet at the sound of her returning footsteps.

Lord Merton advanced into the library, hat tucked under one arm, and carrying a large bunch of white roses in the other hand. "Ah, Mrs Crawley!" he smiled, and held out the roses. Edith blinked and, after a moment, hesitantly reached out and accepted the flowers. "My dear girl, how are you?"

"Umm… well enough, Lord Merton." Really, this was most astonishing conversation she had ever had! "I - I'm so sorry about - about Larry, I - "

Kindly, he interrupted her. "Why on _earth_ should you be sorry, my dear? I came here to _thank_ you. Without your timely intervention - and that of Miss Raikes - then I would have been none the wiser as to the full extent of my son's iniquity." Earnestly, Lord Merton reassured her, "I owe you both a very great debt indeed. You may be interested to hear that I have disinherited him. He will have to make his own way in the world from now on."

"Oh." Overwhelmed by her surprise, Edith sank into the armchair by the fire. Sir Anthony gestured Lord Merton into the other, and then came to stand - a comforting, steadying presence - at Edith's shoulder.

"I thought you might like to know that I went to see Miss Raikes - privately - and let her know that if there was anything that I could do for her - or for my grandchild - then I would like her to tell me." A small smile appeared on his face. Hannah had returned to her parents' house the day after she had accepted John's' proposal, saying that she wanted as much time as possible with them before she left. "Although, she tells me she has plans to emigrate to America with Mr Owens. They're engaged to be married, I hear."

"Yes," Edith managed. "It's such lovely news."

"Quite. Owens is a good chap - I'm sorry that I _ever_ thought him capable of such behaviour." With a warm nod, Lord Merton added, "He'll make a rather excellent husband, I think, given the chance. He clearly adores the girl."

So speaking, he stood up, and shook hands with Sir Anthony, before kissing Edith's. "Well, I'll leave you to get on. Thank you, again, my dear - and," he added, with rather a knowing look, "please don't concern yourself any further on my account. Goodbye."

* * *

"My mother's arrived back from America," Sir Anthony told Edith the next day as they sorted through some boxes in the archive. The local architectural history society wanted to look over some of the original plans for Locksley's construction, and while Edith had insisted she could sort it all out herself, Sir Anthony had worried about leaving her to lift heavy boxes down from high shelves. "And of course she's invited herself up to Locksley for a few days." Edith smiled at the long-suffering manner in which this was said.

"I'm sure Master Pip will be overjoyed, sir."

"Quite." Sir Anthony frowned. "I, on the other hand, will have to endure her checking and double-checking the ledgers, and rooting through the linen cupboards, and telling me _exactly_ what I forgot to do on my last visit to the tenants."

Edith couldn't help a giggle. "That's not true, sir! I've met her, and she was - she was - "

"'Terrifying', Mrs Crawley," Sir Anthony returned dryly. "The adjective for which you are searching is 'terrifying.'"

Edith removed the lid from a likely looking box and began to lift out piles of paperwork. "Oh, sir, if only you had met my grandmother, you would know the true meaning of that word. Granny is a positive dragon."

Sir Anthony chuckled. "Paternal or maternal?"

Edith's face seemed to close up a little. "My late father's mother." Brightening, she added, "My mother's mother lives in New York."

"How exciting! Did your mama grow up there?"

"No, in Cincinnati." Hastily, Edith added, "That's in Ohio. Her family moved to New York when my grandpapa died."

"And however did she come to marry an English solicitor?"

Edith blushed. "It's rather a scandalous story, really…"

"Well, you certainly can't leave it there." He winked at her over the box he was holding. "I shall imagine all sorts of things if you do."

"Well, not so scandalous, I suppose but… " Edith sighed, and then explained, "Grandmama Levinson brought Mama to England because she wanted her to marry a titled English gentleman. Her side of the family are - or _were_ \- rather rich, you see, and…"

"Yes, I remember." Sir Anthony nodded. "It was all the rage about thirty years' ago - impoverished titled families being rescued by bright young American girls."

"Mmm. Well, Mama met the old Earl of Grantham - you know, Matthew's papa? He wasn't poor, of course, but he wasn't going to say 'no' to a few extra pounds in the bank. And for a while it looked as if everything was settled and then…" Edith bit her lip and shrugged. "Cousin Reginald made the fatal mistake of introducing her to his cousin."

"Ah. Your papa."

Edith nodded. "And… that was that." She grinned rather impishly. "I think Cousin Reginald was rather glad, really - he married my Cousin Isobel a month after Mama and Papa got married, and they were terribly happy, before he died." A little sadly, she finished, "So were Mama and Papa." Curiously, she asked, "What was _your_ papa like?" That blush again. "I'm sorry, sir, that's probably a very impertinent question. You don't have to - "

"Rather old-fashioned," he told her, kindly. "Clever. A bit gruff, but very kind-hearted. Quite a bit older than my mother. It'd raise some eyebrows these days, I think, but nobody really minded in the bad old days, and as you've seen, my mother is rather a force of nature. But against all odds, they were very happy together."

"Similar ages don't _guarantee_ that a marriage will be happy," Edith pointed out, her voice tinged with a little indignation.

Anthony shrugged. "No, but… it might help to… bridge any gaps between a couple when they wed, if they have similar… points of reference." He flashed her a quick smile. "You'll find that out one day, when you marry the deserving Mr Pelham."

To his surprise, Edith turned the subject, pulling out a bound, typed manuscript and glancing at the cover. "Did your father write _this_, sir? Phillip Strallan?"

"What's that? Oh, yes." Sir Anthony frowned down at the cover. "A history of the family, mainly, but I think there is half a chapter or so on the house there. The architectural society might be interested in that too, as well as the plans."

Edith smiled. "I'll have a read of it tonight, if you like. Pick out some extracts for them."

Sir Anthony made a face. "Rather you than me, my dear. It's as dull as paint. Are you sure you don't want something more light-hearted and enjoyable for your bedtime reading?" He twinkled at her and jested, "I'm sure we've got a copy of _Jude the Obscure_ somewhere in the library…"

Edith laughed. "I… think I'll give this a try, sir. It might be useful, to have a better working knowledge of the family, what with the archive…"

Sir Anthony sighed. "Such devotion to duty, Mrs Crawley. But I'll warn you now, we're not a terribly interesting bunch…"


	40. A Celebratory Dinner

Lady Strallan arrived two days later, just after four o'clock in the afternoon, laden with baggage, full of energy, and irrepressibly cheerful.

"My dear Mrs Crawley! How _lovely_ it is to see you again!" she beamed, and swooped to kiss Edith's cheek on the doorstep.

"Hello, my lady - I'm afraid Sir Anthony has gone to collect Master Pip from school. They should be back in time for tea."

"Excellent." Lady Strallan hooked her arm into Edith's as they proceeded into the hallway. "Besides, my dear, we can start without them, and you can give me a full and accurate account of everything that's gone on in my absence." She winked. "I know I shall only get half the story from Anthony. What new flight of fancy has he taken off on this time?"

"That's rather unfair, isn't it?" Edith blurted out, before she could stop herself. "He's… well, I think he's terribly brilliant."

"Oh, yes. Brilliant - but completely scatter-brained. Just like his poor, dear Papa." Lady Strallan shook her head, and flipped open one of the ledgers on Edith's desk. "Do you mind, my dear?" Shaking her head, she returned to her earlier topic of conversation. "He'll even admit to it himself, if you ask him."

"I value my job, Lady Strallan - I'm not about to do that!" Edith giggled.

"Not about to do what, my - Mrs Crawley?" asked Sir Anthony, advancing into the library. "Oh! Mama, hello!"

"Granny!" Pip sped in on his father's heels and hurled himself at his grandmother.

"Hello, my darlings!" Lady Strallan threw her arms around Pip and kissed him enthusiastically. "Now, what's this I hear about you and bicycles and _horrid_, horrid motorcar accidents?"

* * *

The long-awaited dinner for Mr Pelham was held three days' later. He arrived on the dot at six o'clock - to be greeted by Sir Anthony and Lady Strallan in the library. Edith was not yet down.

"Sir Anthony."

"Good evening, Mr Pelham! Can I offer you a glass of sherry?"

"Yes. Thank you." Shyly, he added, "I - I trust Edith has recovered from - from the excitement of the last week or so."

"Yes, surprisingly enough." Sir Anthony smiled, lopsidedly. "Or perhaps not, given what we know of her backbone."

Bertie chuckled. "She is… rather like an India-rubber ball, isn't she? Impossible to squash."

"I can't say that I've ever tried," Sir Anthony replied mildly. Then, sensing his mother's curious eyes on them both, added, "May I present my mother, Lady Strallan?"

"Mr Pelham."

"My lady."

"Hello!" Edith came into the room suddenly, pretty and breathless from hurrying down the stairs, and holding Pip's hand. "Do forgive our lateness." As she spoke, Stewart edged into the room. "Dinner is served, my lady, madam, gentlemen."

"Thank you, Stewart." Sir Anthony offered his arm to Lady Strallan. "Well, shall we, Mama?"

Bertie extended his arm to Edith. She smiled but in an undertone asked, "Would you mind awfully if Pip took me through? His first grown-up dinner… he'd like to, I think."

Bertie looked a little taken-aback. "Oh. No, certainly, if you'd like."

"Thank you." Quickly, she turned away. "Well, Master Pip, are you going to take me in?"

* * *

"Well," Bertie chuckled, and took a sip of wine, "all I can say is that I wouldn't like Edith to be getting herself mixed up in these rallies. Women's rights are all very well - but I'd just as soon have her safely at home."

Edith looked at him archly. The conversation, over Mrs Cox's Apple Charlotte, had somehow turned to the suffrage movement. "I don't think that's _quite_ your decision, is it?"

Bertie offered her a soft smile. "Not _yet_, no."

Sir Anthony's hand tightened around his fork. Lady Strallan tutted. "Goodness, Mr Pelham. What an old-fashioned view of the matter! You know, 'the history of civilisation is the history also of a steady, progressive improvement in the condition of women'."

"Quite right, I'm sure," Bertie replied. "And very well put."

"_Not_ an original of my mother's," Sir Anthony put in. "Millicent Fawcett, if I'm not mistaken." Shaking his head, he added, 'You borrow all your best lines from her, Mama."

"Perfectly correct, darling boy. Birmingham, 1872, I think." Turning to Edith, she explained, "I heard her speak in the Town Hall there, my dear. I was visiting a friend at the time - we took Anthony along with us, in fact. All of two years' old. And Diana was there too, although I'm not sure I realised it at the time." She shook her head. "I'm afraid you sound even stuffier than my late husband, Mr Pelham. We used to have some perfectly _gorgeous_ debates. Terrific fun, now I think of it." Her smile had become sad and wistful. She turned fond eyes on Edith again. "You've all _that_ to look forward to, Edith, my dear."

"I think I'd rather have a quiet life, Lady Strallan," Edith corrected her gently. "Although… I must say, I do rather sympathise with Mrs Pankhurst - even if I'm not as… _militant…_ as my sister. Did you read about the speech she made, last October, at the Royal Albert Hall? It… was terribly stirring."

"Hear, hear," Sir Anthony echoed softly, toasting her with his wine glass.

* * *

"Mr Pelham?" Anthony asked in a quiet voice as their little party made their way through to the drawing room. "I wonder if I might… have a word?"

"Of course, Sir Anthony."

They paused in the hall. Anthony dug his hands into his pockets briefly. "Can I ask - what are your intentions towards Miss Crawley?"

"My intentions?" Mr Pelham blinked.

"I think you know what I mean." A moment of silence, and Anthony persisted, "Are you truly serious about courting her, or is this just an amusement to you?"

"Might I ask what right you have to ask?" There was a slight edge to Mr Pelham's voice.

"I'm her employer," Anthony bit out. "While she lives under my roof, I am responsible for her moral well-being - "

"Her _moral_ well-being?" exclaimed Bertie in an undertone.

Sir Anthony watched him steadily. "We're both men of the world, Mr Pelham."

"Yes. I believe we are." Bertie's gaze was just as steady. "But let's be honest with each other - you aren't worried about Edith just because she's your employee, are you?"

Sir Anthony swallowed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"All right, sir." Bertie shrugged. "But… I promise faithfully that my intentions are… _entirely_ honourable. I - I'm planning to propose, very soon."

"I see. And… Miss Crawley… do you expect a favourable answer from her?"

"Yes." Bertie smiled sheepishly. "I don't think that she's entirely… indifferent to me."

"No," Anthony replied numbly. "No, I don't believe that she is." He nodded. "Very well. I want your word, Pelham. Your word of honour that you'll take… _excellent_ care of her. Miss Crawley is… quite irreplaceable."

* * *

Edith looked up from her knitting as Bertie and Sir Anthony slid into the drawing room. "What was all that about?" she murmured, as Bertie sat down next to her on the sofa and lifted his coffee cup.

"Oh, nothing," he waved away her concern. "Have dinner with me, will you? Tomorrow evening?"

"On a Sunday?" Edith asked. "Will anywhere be open?"

"Yes, yes." He squeezed her hand. "I'll… get us a table at the Green Dragon, in the village, shall I? Or a private room?"

"Pushing the boat out a bit, isn't it?"

"You're worth it." Bertie lifted her hand briefly to his mouth. "Do say you will."

"I… shall have to check with Sir Anthony," Edith murmured. "It… it isn't my usual evening, after all."

* * *

"Well, Mr Pelham seems like a delightful chap," smiled Lady Strallan, once the aforesaid guest had departed, and Mrs Crawley and Pip had both gone to bed.

"Indeed he is." Her son's voice was quiet and his smile forced, as he sat down.

His mother squeezed his shoulder softly as she passed on her way to the fireside armchair. "So… that's that, then."

"What's what?"

"Mrs Crawley, off to pastures new."

"He hasn't proposed _yet_."

"No, but he has that look about him." Lady Strallan smiled fondly. "The look of a man about to ask a woman to be his wife." She shook her head matter-of-factly. "Your father had _just_ the same look about him before he asked me."

Anthony frowned. "Papa proposed to you by letter. How would _you_ know how he looked?"

"His letter had that _sound_ to it, then." She pursed her lips. "And none of your cheek, my boy." Watching him closely, she added, "Besides, he was sounding quite _proprietorial_. You don't sound pleased at all."

Anthony stood up and poured himself a whisky. "I'm losing my secretary, Mama - how _pleased_ do you expect me to be? Do you have any idea how long it took me to find someone so efficient, so clever, so - so - ?"

"Beautiful? Charming? _Adorable_?" his mother supplied helpfully.

"_Mama_…" His voice was severe.

"Oh, terribly sorry, dear boy. Have I struck a nerve?"

A muscle ticked in her son's cheek. At length, he gritted out. "No. Of course not."

"Well," his mother announced at length, "I'm for bed." Pausing at the side of Anthony's chair, she smoothed a wrinkled hand through his hair. "Although, if you take my advice, darling boy… don't let her slip through your fingers. Hmm?" Her face creased into a dry smile. "She was defending you quite _militantly_ earlier. Even if she _is_ just your secretary…"


	41. An Offer of Marriage

"Sir… I know this isn't usual - it isn't my evening off… but… Bertie - that is, Mr Pelham… has asked me if I'd like to dine with him this evening. Might I have your permission? I shan't be back very late."

_He's going to propose to her. That's when he's going to propose to her._ "Of course, my dear." Even to Anthony's own ears, his voice sounded forced. "I do hope he's taking you somewhere smart."

"Oh, not really. The Green Dragon, in the village. He was a little… evasive about it." Mrs Crawley frowned. "You don't think there's anything wrong, do you, sir?"

"No. I'm quite sure there isn't." He made himself smile. "Have a lovely evening, my dear."

* * *

"Where's Mrs Crawley going?" Pip asked as he watched Edith get into Bertie's car.

"Her Mr Pelham is taking her to dinner," his father answered, purposely not looking up from his papers.

"Why?" Pip's voice was indignant. "It isn't his day to take her out! She always has dinner with _us_ on Sundays!"

"Well," his father replied patiently, "tonight she's having dinner with Mr Pelham."

"But _why_?" Pip was sounding more and more outraged by the moment.

Anthony set down his pen. "I think this evening he's going to ask her to become his wife."

"His _wife_?" Pip whirled around, eyes wide. "But - but he _can't!"_

Anthony stood and squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. "There, now, old chap - it was going to happen sooner or later. We couldn't be the only two men in England who could see how splendid she is, could we?"

"Does this mean she'll be leaving, Papa?" Pip whispered, crestfallen.

"Yes." Anthony swallowed. "I suppose it does, once she's accepted him."

Impulsively, Pip threw his arms around Anthony's waist and hugged him. "_Papa…_"

"Come along, Pip." Softly, Anthony added, "You like her, don't you?"

"_Yes_!" Pip protested.

"Then you must want to see her happy." He cleared his throat. "And if Mr Pelham makes her happy, then we must… bear her loss as well as we are able. It - it wouldn't be at all fair or gentlemanly, you know, to make her feel guilty for - for falling in love."

* * *

"Champagne?" Edith asked, noticing the bottle on the table in the ice-bucket as they were shown into the private parlour. "Bertie, you'll bankrupt yourself!"

"I told you," Bertie replied, squeezing her hand, "you're _worth_ it."

"Are we celebrating something?" Her heart was racing nineteen-to-the-dozen, and she feared that she already knew the answer. Faintly, she remembered Sir Anthony's smile. _Oh._ He had known, much quicker than she had realised.

Gently, Bertie led her to a chair at the table and settled her in to it. But he did not sit down himself. He hovered for a moment, while Edith knotted her fingers in the skirt of her gown and avoided his eye.

"You know what I want to ask you, Edith," Bertie murmured, his hand tucked inside his inside jacket pocket. "And I said I'd do it all properly… so here goes…" Carefully, he knelt in front of her chair, offering up the open ring-box with its precious cargo. "Edith Margaret Crawley, will you do me the _very_ great honour of becoming my wife?"

"Bertie…"

"Well," he joked after a moment's awkward silence, "don't look too happy, Edith!"

"No, no - it isn't that," she hastened to reassure him, reaching out to touch his cheek gently. "I - I _am_ happy, Bertie. But… I'm not as simple as I used to be."

"You've said that to me before," Bertie frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I - I ought to tell you something." Edith took a deep breath and drew back her hand. "And when I've told you, I want you to know that it's perfectly reasonable for you - for you to want to withdraw your proposal."

"I'm sorry? I don't - "

"So, _please_," she interrupted, "let's just for the moment pretend that you haven't made it yet. And if, once I've told you, you still want to, then… then I'll be able to answer you… with a clear conscience."

He reached for her hands with both of his. "Edith, darling, there isn't - "

"_No_, Bertie," she insisted, holding her hands away from him. "_Listen to me_. And for goodness' sake, get up."

A little stunned, he rose and slowly found his way to his chair. "All - all right. Wh-what have you got to say?"

_Where did one begin? _"Well, you know that before I came to work for Sir Anthony… I worked for a man called Michael Gregson."

"And it didn't work out for you," Bertie nodded encouragingly.

"No." _Quick and blunt, that was the way._ "Because… because we had an affair. He was married and his wife was in an asylum and I let him seduce me."

"'_Seduce _you'?" Bertie gaped for a moment, and then managed, "Do you mean that you - that you - "

"Yes," Edith replied briskly, rescuing him from the difficulty of finishing his sentence. "I went to bed with a married man outside of wedlock, Bertie."

He stood, and turned to the fireplace. "I see."

"And… and I fell pregnant."

He whirled around to stare at her, eyes wide with shock. "You - you have a _child_?"

Edith shook her head. "No. I had a m-miscarriage." Even now, she couldn't say the word without stumbling over it. "About… about three months before we met, just after I started working for Sir Anthony. So… when I said that I wasn't as simple as I used to be, that - _that_ was what I meant." She swallowed, her eyes prickling with tears.

"I see." He was pacing. Edith watched him in silence for a few moments.

"Are you…"

"I'm just… thinking." He looked over at her. "Sir Anthony knows about this, then?" Was she imagining it, or was there more than a touch of jealousy there?

Blushing, she nodded. "There… there wasn't any way to avoid it."

Slowly, he exhaled. "Is… is there any way that anyone _else_ could find out about it? I mean… what are our chances of a scandal?"

Edith swallowed. "I… I suppose it's possible that M-Michael might tell someone," she replied honestly. She tipped her chin back. "We didn't… part on particularly good terms. If - if he heard that I m-might - might become the Marchioness of Hexham one day… he might make trouble for you."

She straightened her shoulders. "So… now that you've heard everything, Bertie, can you _honestly_ say that you still want to marry me?"


	42. Explaining

They drove back to Locksley in silence. When they arrived, Bertie opened her door for her politely and waited while she brushed out her skirts.

"I'm sorry, Edith."

Forcing a smile, she waved away the apology. "Don't be. So am I. I - I ought to have told you everything when you first hinted that - " She stopped and swallowed. "It's perfectly understandable. Your family's honour has to come first. Thank you for being so… so decent about it all." She blinked back tears. "It really has been… _lovely_… to have you as a friend, Bertie."

"Goodbye, Edith." They shook hands, absurdly. "I wish you… _every_ happiness. I - I mean that."

Her smile became a little sad. "I know you do, my dear. And I you. G-goodbye."

* * *

Pip met her in the hall, leaping up from where he had been sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, chin in his hands. "Mrs Crawley," he demanded, "are you leaving us? Papa said Mr Pelham was going to ask you to marry him!"

"Oh, _whatever_ gave him that idea, I wonder?" Impulsively, Edith hugged him tightly, resting her chin on top of his head. "I'm not going… _anywhere_, my dear. I promise. So don't you worry."

Pip's arms wound firmly around her waist as he sighed in bliss. "Oh. Oh, _jolly_ good. It'd be _horrible_ if you left." Another tight squeeze and he let her go. "Goodnight, Mrs C."

"Goodnight, my most _darling_ boy." She brushed her hand through his hair with fingers that shook a little. "Now, off to bed with you, scamp! School in the morning and you'll be fit for nothing if you don't get a good night's rest."

"All right." He stood back, giving that sheepish grin that she adored, and then trudged to the stairs. Three steps up, he turned and checked, "And it's my Latin test tomorrow - you haven't forgotten you said you'd test me over breakfast, have you?"

"Of course not! I'm looking forward to it." Hands on hips, Edith repeated firmly, "Now, _bed_. I want you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning."

When she turned, blinking back not a few tears, she saw Sir Anthony hovering in the library passage.

"Did I… hear you correctly?" he asked quietly. "About - about Mr Pelham?"

"Yes." She tried a bright smile, but it faltered and went out.

"I… I honestly thought that he was going to - "

"You… weren't wrong," she interrupted. "But… that's really all I'd like to say on the matter. Please?"

He bowed his head in silent acquiescence. "Of course, my dear. But… Mr Pelham's loss is… very much our gain. I hope you know that."

"That's very kind of you to say, sir."

He stepped back, gesturing into the warmth of the library. "Would you care for… a cup of cocoa? Or… a game of chess, my dear?"

"Do you know, I'm rather tired? Some other time, perhaps. Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Mrs Crawley."

* * *

What had happened?

It was the question that had been going round and round his brain for days now, ever since last Sunday evening, when Mrs Crawley had returned from her dinner, with no fiancé and no engagement ring and no intention of leaving them.

Had she refused Mr Pelham? Had she told him her secret? Had _he_ refused _her_ because of it?

He did not know, and he so badly wanted to ask - to ensure that she was well, not hurting inside - but she had made it so very clear that she did not want to discuss it…

Anthony stared into the library fire. And to top it all off - to add to the worry and the sorrow that he felt for her - he had to confess to himself that there was a small, cruel, nasty part of his brain that was _glad_. Glad that he would not have to part with her, glad that he would not have to give up her cheerful, beautiful face, and her sweet, kind spirit, and her clever mind. "Glad that you can keep her caged up here for a while longer," he muttered bitterly to himself.

Behind him, he heard the library door creak open. In the dim light of the fire, he croaked sleepily, "Who's there?" And then, rising and turning: "Mrs Crawley? Whatever are you doing up at this hour, my dear?"

"Oh! Sir Anthony!" She was barefoot, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders over her nightgown, her hair curling softly down over her cheeks. "I - I couldn't sleep," she added. "Forgive me for disturbing you, sir."

"Not at all." He grinned tiredly. "Perhaps insomnia is contagious." He gestured to the round table by his chair where a tea-tray and pot stood. "Cup of tea?"

"All - all right." Almost self-consciously, Edith tugged her shawl a little closer around her shoulders. "Thank you."

He began to lift the pot and then set it down. "Ah. Need another cup."

"Oh, don't worry, then, I - "

"Not at all. Shan't be a moment." The library door shut behind him with a gentle snap as he exited, presumably in the direction of the kitchens. Edith sighed. Mrs Cox would skin him alive, master or not, if he smashed so much as a saucer, rootling around her in cupboards.

By the time he had returned, Edith had poked up the fire and switched on the electric lamp and was curled up in the other armchair, opposite his own winged-back chair. A moment's fussing around the teatray, and he passed her the cup with a smile. "There you go. Warm you through."

"Thank you, sir."

"I - I hope… that Mr Pelham isn't the cause of your sleeplessness," he murmured eventually.

Edith looked up from her teacup and gave a sheepish little shrug.

"Forgive me for prying. But… he… told me he was planning a proposal. I take it that you refused him, because of… your situation."

Edith shook her head. "N-not exactly. You know that I wanted to tell him." She sighed. "So… when he proposed, I did and then he asked… he asked whether there was any chance that anyone else would ever f-find out." She looked helplessly over at him. "And it turns out that he just wasn't willing to tie himself to a mess like that." _A mess like _me_._ She swallowed. "Hardly surprising, really. He - he wasn't _horrid_ about it, or anything. He promised me that he'd never say anything to anyone but… but he said that he couldn't in all conscience marry me and risk - risk my - my _secret_ being exposed later. His family, you know."

There was silence for a long moment, with only the crackling of the fire between them, and then Sir Anthony said, very firmly, "An honourable man would _never_ have asked you such a question, my dear. A _good_ one wouldn't have cared about your answer." For a while, he appeared to be warring with himself, and then he added, quiet and fierce, "If he could look at you and feel _anything_ other than gratitude that a woman of such substance would even _consider_ consenting to be his wife… then _he did not deserve you_."

"Thank you, sir," Edith whispered bleakly, and for the first time she sounded close to losing her composure. "F-for that kind lie."

"It wasn't a lie, my dear." He sighed heavily. "One day, I _promise_, you will find a man who will want nothing more than to be allowed to care for you - to cherish you as you deserve. I'm so sorry."

"Whatever for?"

"For encouraging you to - to trust him. I… I honestly thought that he was a better man than that."

Edith smiled faintly. "It isn't your fault. This is just… one time when it would have been nice to have been proved wrong.

He leaned forwards and slid his hand over hers, taking a deep breath. "My dear, I - "

She interrupted him, firmly, almost as if she had not heard him. "I don't - I don't _ever_ want to put myself in that position again." She sighed. "Do you know… it's almost been a _relief_, now that I've had time to think about it properly? We wouldn't have suited. I see that now, in a way that I didn't, before he proposed. And… it isn't wise to marry without love, is it?"

Sir Anthony shook his head, drawing back his hand. "It certainly isn't, my dear. And… if that was the case… then you have nothing to regret."

"There, then." She shrugged. "At least I know what I'm doing, what my life is going to look like. There's… some measure of security in that." She turned her face suddenly, almost blindly towards his. "I - I _can_ stay, can't I? Make myself useful to you, and to Master Pip?"

"Of _course_, my dear, for as long as you like."

"Good. J-jolly good."


	43. Cherishing

Hannah Raikes married John Owens on the first Saturday of March. The gathering in the church was small: Hannah's parents, John's widowed mother, his sister and brother-in-law - and Edith and Sir Anthony. The bride, despite being six months' pregnant, was beaming; the groom looked as if he had just been handed the greatest prize Life had to offer.

"Congratulations," Edith smiled, hugging Hannah as they ducked inside her parents' parlour after the service. "When do you sail?"

"Three days' time." Hannah turned and flashed her husband a teasing smile. "Just gives me long enough to bring this one up to scratch as a husband."

"And then… you start your new life together."

John leaned forwards and kissed Hannah's cheek. "It's already begun, miss." Looking past Edith, he nodded to Sir Anthony. "Sir. Glad you could come."

"We wouldn't have missed it for the world," Sir Anthony reassured him. "Mrs Owens - my heartiest congratulations."

* * *

"Will they be all right, do you think?" Edith asked as they walked back to the motor.

Sir Anthony smiled down at her. "I think they stand a very good chance, yes." His hand squeezed briefly against her elbow. "Don't worry. He's a sensible fellow. I… don't believe that he would have offered to marry her if he did not think he could take care of her, and of the little one."

Edith nodded. "Yes. I… I think you're right." She gave him a hesitant smile as she climbed into the car. "And Hannah looked very happy."

Sir Anthony started the engine. _Poor girl._ Since the incident with Mr Pelham, she had been rather withdrawn, rather quieter than usual. He supposed that even though she hadn't loved him, the manner of their parting would naturally have shaken her up somewhat. Made her… far less likely to trust people. And to attend a wedding so soon afterwards… Really, she had been very brave. "She did indeed, my dear. As every bride should, on her wedding day." Casually, he added, "Glad we went?"

Edith was silent for a moment. At length, she nodded. "Yes. It was very kind of her to invite us. But weddings…" She paused. "When you're single, weddings…"

"…Can rather be reminders of one's own loneliness, can't they?" Sir Anthony finished for her, a little sombrely.

Edith exhaled. "Yes. That's exactly it. Selfish of me to think so, no doubt."

"Not at all." After a moment, he asked, "Have you spoken to your family yet? About… about Mr Pelham?"

"I wrote to Richard. He… wasn't surprised, I don't think, but he did sound… a little disappointed when he wrote back."

"I'm sure that isn't the case. From what I've seen of him, he cares about you, very much."

"Yes, he does. But he cares about the family reputation, too, and things would have been much… _easier_ if I'd married Bertie. Now… there's an extra complication. Another person in on the secret who might one day decide… well, you know."

"I don't think you need worry about Mr Pelham behaving dishonourably." _No more dishonourably than he has done _already_, anyway…_

"No. _I_ don't believe that I do but… Richard is a newspaperman. He finds it so much easier to see the bad in people, than the good."

"And your mother? She was… rather keen on the idea of Mr Pelham, wasn't she, from what I remember?"

"She wants me to be happy… but she wants me to be _secure_, as well - and of course, I couldn't tell her precisely _why_ it hadn't worked out with Bertie." Chewing her lip, Edith admitted, "I think… I think that she thinks I've thrown away a wonderful chance for no reason."

"Well, we've all had our hearts bruised, at one time or another, I'm afraid," he reminded her.

"Like you and Lady Fyfe, sir?" And then her face flamed bright red. "Good Lord, sir, I should never have - "

"I suppose you could say that." His voice betrayed no hint of annoyance. "We… courted, for a while, when we were younger."

"Wh-why didn't you marry her?" Edith wondered, as he drew the car up outside Locksley's front door.

He gave her that soft, secret, rather sad smile of his. "I met my late wife."

"And now?" Boldly, Edith added, "Mrs Dale seems to think that Lady Fyfe wouldn't be… averse to the idea. From what I've seen… I'd agree, sir."

Sir Anthony got out and came around to open her door for her. "As you say, Mrs Crawley, it's never a wise idea to marry without love." As they walked up the steps, he added, "Her ladyship has been a very good friend to me, but… if I were ever to marry again… well, it wouldn't just be my own wishes to consider."

"Of course, sir." Edith preceded him into the hall. "The estate, the tenants, Master Pip."

"Quite right." Sir Anthony cast her a wry look. "And I have a feeling that a very special kind of woman would be required, to satisfy everyone."

"Yes," Edith agreed quietly. "Quite right, sir…"

* * *

_Darling Anthony_,

_I reached London safe and sound yesterday evening - Strallan House, you will be pleased to hear, is still standing, thanks to Warrell's excellent ministrations in my absence._

_I was plagued by Sarah Stanhope at tea-time today, wailing and weeping still over her granddaughter's decision to jilt the Useless Member for Ashford. I bit my tongue, Anthony dearest, but if the Orton girl isn't a much better candidate for Lady Flora's 'heart and hand', then I'm Queen Boudicca. At least she has a grain of sense. That __is__ what's going on, isn't it? Of course, Sarah wouldn't be plain about it, but from some of the words she used to describe Veronica, it wasn't difficult to guess. Apparently, __Lady__ Stanhope is still in hysterics about the whole affair - but then, she always was a rather flighty sort of character. Your darling papa - even at his stuffiest and most patriarchal - couldn't stand that swooning 'weeping willow' air she always had about her, and I must say I agreed with him._

_In any case, I digress. How is your Mrs Crawley? She seemed so downcast and quiet when I left Locksley, that I could only assume that something had gone wrong with her and Mr Pelham. Pip told me all about your confusion, if confusion it __was__, but I must tell you, my darling, that I don't believe a word of it. If a girl doesn't receive a proposal she's expecting, she gets cross. She doesn't mope around the house for days afterwards. I don't expect you to tell me anything, my dear - if indeed you do know __anything_ _\- but here is what I believe may have happened. Mr Pelham __has__ made a proposal, and for some reason has been rejected, or has chosen to rescind it. _

_Whatever the case, be kind to her, Anthony. Your Mrs Crawley is a strong character, but if her __heart__ has been wounded, she will need a good deal of cherishing. You could take care of that, I think. You could take care of each other._

_Don't scowl, darling. You and she and Pip all look so natural together, somehow, a proper family - and no woman smiles at her employer that way unless she's searching for a lot more than sixteen shillings at the end of the week. No doubt your father would have thought __that__ little remark somewhat coarse and vulgar: but he would also have __agreed__ with me._

_All my love to you and to Pip,_

_Mama_

Anthony lowered the letter to his desk and shook his head. Thank goodness Mrs Crawley didn't open letters from his mother or his sister - the Lord only knew what she'd have made of _this_!

Then again… his mother was perhaps right. Oh, not about all that 'proper family' nonsense, but certainly about Mrs Crawley requiring some cherishing. He could manage that, he supposed. He wouldn't… string the girl along, or anything, but he could cheer her up. Boost her confidence. Make her see that there was a life beyond Herbert Pelham and that painful secret.

It wouldn't be difficult, not when he was beginning to adore her so completely.

He reached for the telephone on his desk. "Hello, operator?… Ripon 564. Thank you… Hello - Claudia? Anthony here… yes, yes, and you? And Hugh? Good… now - don't laugh, Claudia, but… is there anything going on - any concerts or anything - that Mrs Crawley might enjoy?… Well, you are the local Society expert, my dear…"

* * *

"Sir," Mrs Crawley announced as he entered the library, "I've typed those extracts for the architectural society - they're just here."

It was a Tuesday morning and she was tidying his desk again. Anthony watched as she lifted his empty teacup from a pile of papers, scanned through them, dropped a few into the waste-paper basket, and then shook the survivors briskly into order. Books were next. "Have you finished with the _Chambers_, sir?"

"Yes, thank you, my dear." Somewhat sheepishly, he admitted, "The _Times_ crossword was particularly fiendish yesterday." Crossing to the desk, he lifted the manila folder she had indicated and scanned through the neat, typed sheets. "Very industrious of you - as ever."

"Oh, I enjoyed it." As she spoke, Mrs Crawley climbed the library steps, slotting the dictionary back onto its correct shelf. "Your father… had rather a way with prose, if I'm allowed to say so," she added over her shoulder.

"My mother would be delighted to hear it," Sir Anthony smiled as she stepped down and returned to his desk, straightening his pen-tray. "I'll tell her, when next I write." He took a breath. _Here was a chance._ "I say, my dear, have you a moment to spare?"

Mrs Crawley puffed out a breath, blowing a stray blonde curl out of her eyes, and offered him a distracted smile. "Yes. Why?"

"I've… tickets for a concert, next Saturday." He tried to keep his voice casual. "I… don't suppose you'd care to accompany me?"

Mrs Crawley dropped the pencil she was holding. (Anthony winced.) "Accompany you… to a _concert_, sir?"

Hastily, he added, "Sir Hugh and Lady Gervas will be there, too - and I know what good friends you and she are."

She bent to collect the pencil, lingering out of view for far longer than he felt strictly necessary. "Lady Gervas has been very kind to me, yes," she corrected.

"I don't think it's _kindness_. She was telling me only yesterday what a wicked sense of humour you have." Hesitantly, he checked, "Shall you come, then?"

"Well… what sort of a concert is it?" She tucked that loose curl behind her ear with anxious fingers.

"Oh, only Hungry Hundred stuff. I'm not up to anything terribly complicated." He shrugged. "But it might be enjoyable. Claudia's invited us for dinner afterwards. We shall be quite a jolly party, I'd have thought - what do you say?"

Very carefully, she set his unopened post down on the blotter in front of him. "Are you asking me because you think I need to be pitied and coddled?" Her voice was very quiet and stiff.

He set down his pen. "_No_." Mrs Crawley shot him a look of disbelief. He sighed. "All right. You've had a _beastly_ couple of weeks, and I thought that you might benefit from a treat." His voice softened. "But I _don't_ pity you, my dear, and I'm _not_ trying to coddle you. Dash it all, is it so _very_ difficult to believe that I might just… enjoy your company?"

There was silence for a long moment. "Forgive me," Mrs Crawley murmured. "You… were trying to be kind and I was being churlish and defeatist." She inhaled. "I'd enjoy it very much."


	44. A Concert

"Ready, my darling?" Hugh asked, poking his head around the bedroom door. Claudia glided towards him, pulling on her gloves.

"Absolutely." She hooked her arm through his as they advanced onto the landing. "Now, Hugh, you mustn't monopolise Anthony tonight."

"'_Monopolise_' him?" Hugh echoed, half-indignantly. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I _mean_," Claudia told him, pausing in the hall to straighten his tie, "that you must let him spend his time being charming to Edith and cheering her up."

"Well, if Anthony wants to spend his evening being charming to Mrs Crawley, then why does he need us along… _fifth-wheeling_?"

"Because he has a very highly-developed sense of propriety." Claudia kissed his cheek as Hugh started the car engine. "He could do with letting some of your roguishness rub off on him, darling."

Hugh settled his hand on her knee and squeezed. "Glad you're starting to be of my mind." He tutted. "All right. But it's a fine thing, when a man can't even have a conversation with one of his oldest friends without being accused of monopolising him!"

* * *

It felt as if they had done all this before, Edith thought, as Sir Anthony helped her into the motor. Of course, part of that had to do with the fact that walking down the stairs that evening had been very much like that evening when they had attended the Christmas party at the Abbey: him waiting for her in the hall, her walking down the stairs in that same cream and blue dress with all its bright embroidery and fine black netting… She'd felt a pang at that, a vague wish that she had had another fine dress to wear - he had, after all, seen this one before - but he had been so polite and chivalrous, helping her on with her coat and offering the commonplace compliments, that she had managed to put all that aside.

"I must warn you," Sir Anthony announced as they drove along, "that Hugh has the most dreadful singing voice of any man I've ever met. For the singalong after the interval, I suggest that we let Claudia be our shield."

Edith chuckled. "Sir, that's too unkind!"

"She promised to take him in _sickness_, as well as in health, my dear - she has only herself to blame."

More laughter. Anthony smiled. "I'm glad to hear you laughing. You've been very quiet, these last few days."

"I've been _wallowing_, these last few days," Edith replied dryly. "Thank you for pointing that out to me."

"I don't think that at all." His voice was reassuring. "But I _am_ glad, if you're feeling a bit brighter."

* * *

Really, they were too sweet, Claudia thought at the start of the interval. Anthony, his voice so soft and gentle when he spoke to her; dear Edith, biting her lip so charmingly to try to hold back a smile as she teased him. The way their two heads - dark blonde and red-gold - bent towards each other as if they were the only two in the room, even while the concert had been running!

Claudia smiled. And it was even sweeter because they had no idea that they were doing it. They were such _innocents_. Edith's ignorance could be excused, she supposed, but _Anthony _\- married and widowed and with a son - ought to have known precisely what he was doing.

"Excuse me," Edith smiled to him, and rose, heading towards the convenience.

Hugh stood up too. "Well, I think I'll go and get us some drinks."

Having got Anthony to herself, Claudia wasted no time. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked Anthony wryly.

He blinked. "Yes. The music's pleasant enough and - "

Gently, Claudia batted his arm. "I'm not talking about the _music_, darling man. I _mean_ Edith."

"Edith?" A faint blush crept over his cheekbones. "Claudia, please get it out of your head that I have any intention whatsoever of - of pursuing Mrs Crawley."

Claudia sighed. "You'd be so much more believable, you know, if you weren't doing all the things a man does when he _is_ pursuing a woman." At Anthony's annoyed look, she shook her head, ticking her reasons off on her fingers. "Oh, _really_! Introducing her to your mother? Squiring her around to motorcar clubs? Scowling whenever anybody so much as mentions Herbert Pelham? Bringing her to concerts because 'she's had such a beastly rotten time recently and I want to cheer her up'?" Her expression became a somewhat severe frown. "Everything would be so much simpler if you just admitted it, you know. To yourself and to her."

Anthony shifted uncomfortably in his seat, beginning to feel very much like an insect under a microscope. How on Earth had he managed to be cursed with so very many meddling women in his life? "Oh, yes," he murmured sardonically at length. "Very much _easier_ for Mrs Crawley, I'm sure, to know that her employer - the man who pays her wages, for God's sake! - is - is - is thinking improper thoughts about her."

Claudia's eyebrows flew up into her hairline. "Gosh! Who are you and what have you done with Sir Anthony Strallan? '_Improper thoughts_' - Anthony, you've never had an improper thought in your life." Thinking of Maude, she amended, "Well, hardly ever." Her voice softened. "My dear, being in love with a woman isn't improper."

"It is," he bit out, "when she's half your age and your employee and when she's been so badly bruised by the world."

"The second, I grant you, has some merit," Claudia replied, "but the third - well, all the more reason for her to be settled down with a nice, kind, steady chap. And on the first point, talk to your mother - she'll laugh and laugh and laugh, and then switch your backside as you deserve."

"Thank you, Claudia." Anthony's voice was rather more acidic than usual as he replied. And why was it that all of these meddling women were so wilfully blind to the realities of the situation? _Mama_ he supposed he could understand - a woman who had been married most happily to a man two decades her senior could hardly be expected to speak against similar matches - but _Claudia_ had no such excuse. Couldn't she see the risks?

And before all that, there was the question of how a man in his position could possibly declare himself to a woman in hers without it being a violation of all the codes of conduct by which the civilised world lived. Wouldn't he just be turning himself into another Larry Grey if he even attempted it? She was reliant on him, for Heavens' sakes! There was an imbalance of power there that he shied away from, as from dog muck in the street, every time he thought of it.

As for Claudia accusing him of intentions, just on the strength of a spare concert ticket, it was preposterous. He just hadn't been able to stand the girl looking so wretched, that was all. And to hear her talking as if she were going to spend the rest of her life sheltered away at Locksley, waiting hand and foot on him and Pip, and never knowing what a full life - marriage and children and a purpose of her own - felt like… ridiculous!

She just needed convincing, that was all. Coaxing. Someone to show her that she was still valuable and desirable and worthy of all the adoration a man could give. Someone to show her that the rest of the world was not so unforgiving as Herbert Pelham.

Hugh pressed glasses of champagne into their hands, and Anthony turned his attention back to Edith, who had just slipped back into the chair next to him.

He could feel Claudia's beady gaze on him the whole time.

* * *

Under the thunder of applause that came at the end of the concert, Edith turned shining eyes on Anthony. "Thank you, for such a lovely evening. I did so enjoy it."

Anthony couldn't help smiling in the face of such joy. "I'm glad. It's… taken you out of yourself, for an hour or so at least."

"Yes." Briefly, he felt her little hand squeeze his elbow. "I've been _such_ a monster this week, I know."

That surprised a chuckle from him. "My dear, you don't know the meaning of the word. Quite the opposite, I assure you."

"Come along, you two!" Claudia hustled them out of their row. "I promised Mrs Rowe _faithfully_ that she could have dinner ready for half past nine o'clock with no anxiety, and you know what a tyrant she is. If we're late, I'll be punished with cold eggs and hard potatoes for a week!"

"Makes a man grateful for Mrs Cox," Anthony murmured in Edith's ear as they sidled out of the hall. She shot him a brief look of amusement and let him take her arm.

Hugh, who had slipped out ahead of them, was unfortunately having a _less_ merry time of it. Only two steps out into the atrium, he had come face to face with none other than almost the last person his companions would have wanted to see at that moment. "Oh, Pelham." After a moment, he extended his hand to be shaken. Couldn't cut the fellow, after all, not now. "Hello."

Bertie gave an awkward, tight smile. "Hello, sir. Here with Lady Gervas?"

"Yes." Hugh coughed gruffly. "And Sir Anthony and - " He stopped, blushing.

"And Mrs Crawley?" Bertie murmured.

"Yes." _Well, might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb,_ Hugh thought. Claudia would already be displeased. Mind you, if she thought that he had recovered easily from the split with the Crawley girl, then she was mistaken - the lad looked more than a touch pale and peaky. Who knew what had happened between them anyway? One minute thick as thieves, the next everything was off. Internally, Hugh shook his head. Seemed a hopeless business to him.

"How is she?" Pelham managed.

"Well, here she comes now," Hugh nodded, as Claudia's hand closed on his elbow. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

The first Anthony, who had been engaged in a discussion of the music with Edith, knew of it all was when Edith suddenly went pale and stopped in the middle of her sentence. Turning, he saw Mr Pelham, his eyes fixed on Edith, his expression caught halfway between embarrassment and longing. "Hello, Edith," he got out. "Sir Anthony."

"Hello, Bertie," Edith whispered. She seemed to have shrunk closer to Anthony, all the laughter and sparkle of a moment ago gone. Her fingers had tightened around Anthony's arm, as if she were trying to hold herself up.

"Pelham," he bit out, for once not caring that he was being cold to the point of impoliteness. Served the cad right.

"How are you?" Pelham pressed.

"Q-quite well," Edith replied. "Thank you. And - and you?"

"Yes. Fine."

Edith made a little noise in the back of her throat, and Anthony turned to her, placing his back very firmly towards Pelham. "Edith, my dear, it's very warm in here - shall we hurry up and get outside? Claudia, you can wait for Edith's coat, can't you?"

"Yes," Edith whispered. And then, much quieter, "_Please_."

It was _much _colder outside than in, which is very much the general way of things on evenings in March. Edith perched on a bench outside the concert hall and Anthony stood by her. "Sorry," she swallowed and a sudden shiver ran through her; a moment later, and he had draped his tailcoat around her shoulders, cloaking her in his warmth. Edith clutched the edges of it with her gloved hands and drew it tighter around her with a murmur of thanks.

"Don't be," he soothed. "Are you all right? We can leave, cry off with Claudia, if… if you'd rather just go straight back home."

"No." She shook her head firmly. "It would spoil the rest of the evening for you, sir."

"Quite the opposite, my dear - it would only be spoilt if I knew you were hating it and just… enduring it for my sake."

Edith shook her head again. "I'll be fine, in a moment," she insisted. "It was just a… surprise, to see him. It shouldn't have been." She let out a fragile little chuckle. "He's just as much right to go to concerts as I have, after all."

Sir Anthony sat down on the bench next to her. "If it's any consolation," he offered after a moment, "_he_ looked far more unhappy than _you_."

She gave him a weak smile. "I don't _want_ him to be unhappy. Not at all." A little, trembling sigh. "That's the _trouble_. I've hurt him and - "

"He hurt _himself_. You did _nothing_ wrong. Truly."

Edith swallowed. "Whatever have I done, to make you always take my part?"

"Oh, I don't know." He huffed out a chuckle. "Brought my life into some sort of order? Put a criminal behind bars and released an innocent man? Loved Pip so well?" His hand squeezed hers, warm and reassuring, and then let go. "_Hundreds_ of things, my dear. More than I could ever repay."

Edith looked up at him solemnly. "You already have, I think, sir."

* * *

The concert had been as dull as paint, to Ginny's way of thinking. Whoever had invented such a tedious way to spend an evening ought to be taken out and shot. But then, somehow, it had become 'the thing to do', and if one didn't partake, it appeared odd. It was all the worse because George's sister adored the dratted things, and always invited her along, as if she were doing her some sort of favour.

Evelyn was still gushing about the music now. Would nothing stop her? Really, if she hadn't been so socially advantageous a connection to have, Ginny would have stopped agreeing to accompany her the moment George had dropped dead.

"I say!" Evelyn exclaimed as they stepped outside, "isn't that Anthony Strallan over there? With that remarkably pretty girl?"

Evelyn was right. Silently, Ginny admired the breadth of his shoulders, in just his white evening shirt… and then her gaze slid to the girl sitting next to him and her eyes narrowed. "I wonder who she can be?" Evelyn burbled, her voice becoming gossipy.

"Oh," Ginny replied airily, "his secretary. A scheming little witch, of course, but you know what _dear_ Anthony is like. Utterly ignorant about the ways of the world - _especially_ where women are concerned."

Evelyn giggled. "Ginny, that's _too_ cruel." Her smile became mischievous. "Perhaps he just needs… someone more experienced to take him in hand. I know George wouldn't have wanted you to be alone for the rest of your life…"

Of course, Evelyn hadn't the first clue about George, Ginny thought as they climbed inside her waiting motorcar, but she wasn't wrong about _everything_.

* * *

In the hall, Stewart took their coats. "A pleasant evening, sir, miss?"

"A delightful evening, thank you, Stewart," Sir Anthony smiled, his hand hovering over Edith's lower back. "Shall we go through to the library, my dear?"

"May I bring you some coffee, sir?"

"No, thank you. Lady Gervas looked after us very well."

"Very good, sir."

Inside the library, Edith sighed. "That was… a perfectly _lovely_ evening."

"I'm very glad. Despite the…"

"Yes," she reassured him. She wasn't even telling an untruth. Once they had got back to the Gervas's house, and eaten their dinner, she had felt much better. All the mild horror of seeing Bertie had quite passed away. She hadn't felt at all awkward in Claudia and Hugh's company, even without Sir Anthony smoothing the way - really, they had all been so terribly kind. Sir Anthony had mentioned that she played the piano very well, and Claudia had coaxed and wheedled until Edith had agreed to perform for them; and then she and Sir Anthony had played a couple of duets together, his long fingers dancing over the keys with such grace and skill that he made Edith sound far more accomplished than she really was.

She didn't even care if he had only been doing it all out of pity; she would treasure this evening for as long as she lived.

"Nightcap?" he asked, hand hovering over the tantalus.

"Wh-why not?" she smiled; something was making her feel rather daring tonight, and she liked the way he was looking at her, kind and affectionate and warm. Carefully, he handed her her glass, his fingers lingering over hers. "Did I say, earlier, what a lovely gown that is?"

Edith blushed. "You've seen it before. It's probably horridly out of fashion, by London standards."

"Oh, well, in that case, I retract all former statements on the subject," Sir Anthony joked softly. "But am I still permitted to say that you look terribly pretty in it?"

He saw the pleased blush flush up her chest and neck and cheeks, and she lowered her eyelashes as she took a sip of her drink. "If you a-absolutely must."

"Yes," he croaked out, feeling suddenly rather warm. "I _absolutely_ must."

She lifted her eyes to his face and there was something in his eyes that made her swallow - something longing and bittersweet and fond. Very carefully, Sir Anthony set aside his glass on the sideboard. "Edith, my dear…" His hand lifted and a moment later she felt his fingers brushing softly against her cheek, exactly as he had on New Year's Eve, when she had been so upset about Papa. But she did not want to flinch away this time. She only wanted to move closer, and closer still...

"Sir…"

Dimly, as if from very far away, Edith heard the telephone in the hall ringing, and the sound of Mr Stewart's quiet murmur as he answered it. Taking a deep breath, she stepped back. For one surprising, lovely moment, she had thought that Sir Anthony had been about to kiss her. What was even more surprising and lovely was that, from the stunned look on his face, he had seemed to think the same. And what _she_ ought to think about _that_, she wasn't entirely sure.

There was a light, brisk knock on the door, Sir Anthony's fingers dropped slowly back to his side and Mr Stewart entered. Sir Anthony turned away, fiddling with some decanters on the sideboard. "Mrs Crawley?" Stewart asked quietly. "Sir Richard Carlisle on the telephone for you."

"Richard?" Edith wondered aloud. "Whatever can he want at this hour?" She sighed. "Please… excuse me, sir."

"He did sound in some considerable distress, miss," Stewart advised her as she passed out into the hallway.

Sudden anxiety welled up in her like water from a spring. Richard was hardly _ever_ distressed, and even when he was, he wasn't the sort of man to show it.

She lifted the receiver with not a little trepidation. "Hello?"

"Edith? Thank _God._"

"Richard? Whatever - "

"I need you to come home," he interrupted. "It's Sybil. She's been arrested."


	45. London

Anthony's tea steamed by his elbow as he stared out of the window. "Papa?" Pip asked at his shoulder.

Anthony blinked and fixed a faint smile on his face. "Yes, my boy?"

"Is Mrs Crawley going to be away for a long time?" Pip wondered. "Or just a week, like before?"

Anthony squeezed his shoulder. "For a little longer, I'm afraid. Her - her family need her."

Pip frowned. "But _we _need her too!" he protested, casting a slightly dark glance at his father's already crowded desk.

Anthony huffed out a laugh. "Yes, but… well, we can't expect her to put us above her sister, now can we?"

Pip sighed. "No," he sighed grudgingly. "I suppose not." He sank into the chair at Mrs Crawley's desk, where the paperwork was already beginning to build up in sad little piles. "But I _miss_ her."

"I know, my boy. I know."

Anthony lifted his cup and took a scalding gulp of it, trying to block out the searing ache that had shot through him at Pip's words. As if he wasn't feeling precisely the same way. God, it had only been a day, and already, he missed her as if someone had come along and taken a limb away from him. But, he thought bitterly, perhaps it was for the best. After all, given all the… the shenanigans of the night before, it was perhaps wise that she spent some time away from Locksley. Away from him.

He'd nearly _kissed her, _for God's sake! He'd been so close, his fingers on her cheek, stepping forward as if to embrace her… And what would have happened then? He didn't even want to think about it. She hadn't seemed… _averse_ \- far from it! - but he felt a hypocrite, after everything that he had said to Claudia, only earlier the same night. He did not know what had possessed him, but suddenly, standing there alone with her in the dim light from the lamps and the fire, with her watching him with those lovely brown pools of hers… he had lost his head. And from the expression on her face afterwards - wondering and shaken - he knew that she had been close to losing hers too.

Where would it have ended, he wondered, if he had allowed himself any further liberties? He hated to think of it. The idea was to reassure her, to build her confidence, not to seduce her himself!

He both longed for and feared her return. The thought of those shy smiles of hers, of her laughter, of her sensible calm head… they all made him ache, in ways that were not entirely unpleasant. Not at _all_ unpleasant, in fact.

* * *

"Richard?" Edith poked her head around her brother-in-law's study door. "Tea's in the library."

He looked up from his desk and ran a tired hand through his hair. Never had she seen him look less put-together. His jacket had been discarded over the back of his chair hours ago, and yesterday's tie and collar were crumpled on the desk next to him. The stubble on his cheeks had long outgrown the name of 'shadow' and there were purple smudges like livid bruises under his red and bloodshot eyes. Edith's hand went to her hip. "Did you sleep at _all_ last night?"

He shook his head tiredly. "No. Too much to do."

"Oh, Richard," she sighed. "You'll be no use to Sybil if you collapse of exhaustion, you know."

With a grunt of exertion, Richard heaved himself up from his chair and came towards her. "I know." A faint smile passed over his face. "And how are you? The milk train's no fun."

Edith shrugged. "I'll do for a while yet. Mama needs me."

Richard squeezed her elbow. "Thank you for coming." He blinked. "I don't think I said that earlier."

Edith hooked her arm into his and pulled him out into the hallway. "You don't have to _thank _me. Honestly. My little sister's waiting to appear before a magistrate - where else would I be?"

"God," Richard sighed bitterly. "I wish Mary were here. Who goes on a damned sketching holiday in March?"

"She's due back on Thursday," Edith soothed him. "And what could she do here, apart from quarrel with me and rile up every MP in London? Really, we're better off without her, just until the dust has settled."

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just… wish we could get in touch with her."

"The advantage and the disadvantage of her friends not having the telephone, I suppose," Edith sighed, pushing open the drawing room door. "Anyway, she may already have seen in the papers, and be on her way back." Richard hadn't been able to do anything about _that_, of course. Somehow, Edith doubted that he would have done, anyway. He was rather strict about things like freedom of the press, even when it involved his own family.

It had been an exhausting night and day. Had it only been last night when Richard had telephoned her? It seemed as if she had lived a whole lifetime since then.

The facts were plain.

At nine o'clock the previous evening, a group of women had been arrested for smashing windows in a row of shops in Knightsbridge. It had all been done perfectly calmly - a row of well-dressed ladies, lined up like soldiers on paraded, hammers withdrawn from each of their handbags at precisely the same moment. Thirty pounds of damage done in the space of roughly the same number of seconds. The police had been quick to arrive on the scene. None of the women had resisted arrest - indeed, they had seemed all too happy to hand themselves into custody. One of those arrested and taken to a nearby police station had been Miss Sybil Cora Crawley. Richard had received a telephone call from a 'source' of his, a constable at said police station, at half past nine, and once he had ascertained the situation, he had telephoned Edith.

_She had returned to the library in a state of considerable agitation. "Good Lord!" Sir Anthony exclaimed at her pale face, and guided her to the sofa. "Is everything quite all right? Mrs Crawley?"_

_She told him everything, of course. He had proven himself able to be trusted, and utterly unshockable, and, which was worth more than anything, full of sound and sensible advice. "I - I must get to London at once," she managed, when she had come to the end of her story._

_Sir Anthony nodded. "Of course. Take as long as you need away. But I'm afraid you'll have missed the last train. I'll speak to Mrs Dale and make sure she gets us up in time for you to catch the milk train in the morning."_

_"'__Us'?" she blinked._

_"__I'll drive you into York," he nodded, "and see you safely on. No arguments, please." This, as Edith had looked ready to protest._

_She sighed. "All right." Unable to keep still, she rose from the sofa and strode to the fire and back. "What do you think will happen to her?" She swallowed. "I mean… will this mean a prison sentence?"_

_Sir Anthony's expression told her everything she needed to know. "I'm afraid so, my dear. The judiciary haven't ever been what one would call lenient when it comes to destruction of property, and coming so quickly on the heels of this house-bombing business… well, let us just say that the militants are most definitely _persona non grata_ in legal circles just now." At Edith's despairing expression, he added, "But… it is her first offence, isn't it? The judge may reduce her sentence, because of that."_

_Edith brushed back a lock of hair impatiently. "But how likely is that?" She bit her lip. "And I know Sybil. She won't be cowed by an old man in a wig and gown. If they're hoping for contrition, then they'll be barking up the wrong tree, I'm afraid. Richard sounded awful." _

_"__I'm sure that everything will be quite all right, my dear." Even to his own ears, it sounded like false reassurance._

_"__I read the papers, sir." Her voice broke. "When militants go to prison, they hunger-strike. And when they hunger-strike they get f-forcibly fed. And Sybil…" She couldn't continue. Instead, she covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook, and all that could be heard for a moment was the crackling of the fire, and her soft sobs._

_Sir Anthony's hand was gentle on her shoulder. "Miss Sybil is the cousin of the Earl of Grantham and the sister-in-law of Sir Richard Carlisle. She isn't by any means unconnected or friendless. And I believe that, in the past, the authorities have been, shall we say, far more reluctant to assault women like her." Edith sniffled but did not look up. Anthony persisted: "Remember Lady Constance Lytton? About three years' ago? Didn't she… write a book about it, after she was released from Liverpool Prison?"_

_Edith's face emerged half-reluctantly from her hands and Sir Anthony tugged his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped her eyes for her. "There, that's better. Now, I suggest that you go upstairs and put a few things into a bag, my dear, and then try to get some sleep. Sybil will need you to be fighting fit and on excellent form, won't she?"_

_She nodded and bravely sniffed back further tears. "Yes. You're right, of course."_

_"__Good." He squeezed her shoulder and let go. "I'm glad someone appreciates that fact. And… if I can do anything - anything at all - please do tell me. I am completely at your service."_

_Of course, Edith found it utterly impossible to sleep. Once she had packed a few clothes and changed out of her dress, she lay down on the bed and tried to close her eyes, but she could not push away the worry she was feeling over what might be happening in London. How was Sybil spending this night? Was she managing to snatch a few hours' sleep on a dirty prison mattress, or was she too awake, perhaps frightened, perhaps regretting her decision? How Edith wished she might exchange places with her! She was sure she would not sleep a wink._

_At length, however, exhaustion and anxiety had overcome her, and she fell into uneasy dreams. Mrs Dale shook her gently awake at half past four, with a cup of tea and some toast, but Edith's stomach was churning so badly, she could hardly manage any of it. Once she had neatened her hair and washed, Edith crept downstairs, eyes fogged with sleep, head aching faintly, mouth dry and furred with adrenaline._

_Sir Anthony waited for them in the hall and ushered her out into the cold darkness, into the Rolls'. They spoke little on the journey into York, Edith too preoccupied by the resurgence of awful imaginings about the situation at home, and Anthony sensing that nothing he could say would do the slightest bit of good._

_As the steam of the train swirled around their feet and wreathed their heads, Anthony passed Edith her carpet-bag. "The very best of luck, my dear," he murmured. "And remember… stay as long as you like, and write if you've need of me."_

_"__Yes. Thank you." She bit her lip. "And… if possible, don't tell anyone why I've gone. It'll be in the papers, I suppose, but they might not read them closely enough to make the connection." She shrugged wearily. "But then perhaps it's pointless to worry about that, now - I suppose it isn't every day that an Earl's cousin gets arrested."_

_"__You may rely on my absolute discretion," he reassured her. "Although… if you'd like, I could mention it quietly to Veronica? Don't forget that she's been to prison herself. I believe the WSPU call it being 'a graduate of Holloway.' She might be able to offer… some advice? Some… knowledge, so you don't feel quite so… in the dark?"_

_Edith thought it over and then nodded. "Yes. That might be helpful. Thank you."_

_The station master blew his whistle; Edith scrambled aboard. Sir Anthony shook her hand through the window. "If there's _anything_ I can do," he repeated, "please, Edith - I…" - but then the train was moving and they were pulled apart and the rest of his sentence was lost._

"Is your mother still in her room?" Richard asked and Edith was dragged from her reverie. She gave him a distracted smile and passed him his teacup.

"Yes. I'll take a cup of tea and some bread-and-butter up to her." Mama had been utterly overset by worry. By the time Edith had arrived in the early morning, Mrs Crawley had worked herself up into such a fit of hysterics that Uncle John had been called to administer a sedative. He had still been there when Edith let herself in through the front door. "Well, at least someone of sense has arrived," he nodded, satisfied and kissed Edith's cheek. "I'll rest easier once I've left, knowing there's a strong pair of shoulders in the house, my dear."

Edith didn't _feel_ very strong as she took Mama her tea, though. In fact, she felt thoroughly washed out and shaky, like over-boiled macaroni. It was made all the worse by the fact that there was really very little to be done apart from wait until Sybil came to trial in two days' time. This feeling of helplessness was really the very devil.

Mama was still asleep, so Edith set her tray down on the bedside table, kissed his mother's hair to wake her, and then slipped out as she was stirring. She didn't think she could face her just now, somehow. Doubtless, Mama would be weepy and in low-spirits, and Edith felt that she would be in no way capable of holding herself together if she had to witness her mother cry.

* * *

Downstairs, Richard had abandoned his teacup still half-full and was to her surprise not pacing the drawing room, like a caged lion, but slumped on the sofa in a defeated way, like a dog on its way to be put to sleep. He was staring into the fire with a blank look on his face but shook himself when Edith came back into the room. "How was she?"

"Still sleepy. I woke her and left the tea by her bed." As she spoke, Edith sank down in the armchair opposite him. "Will we be able to go to visit Sybil, before the trial?"

Richard nodded, rubbing at his tired eyes. "Yes. Tomorrow morning. Why, you don't want to come, do you?"

Edith tutted. "Of _course_ I do. Mama might not be up to it, but it would reassure her if I went, I think."

"And if I refuse permission?"

Edith smiled. "Then I shall take a taxi and join you there - but sharing the car would be _so_ much easier." At Richard's continued look of doubt, Edith added, "I'm a grown woman, Richard, I don't need your permission to do _anything_."

He shrugged. "Oh, all right. You'll do what you like anyway, I suppose, so it's useless to quarrel with you."

Edith bit her lip. "Am I so very tiresome?"

"No," he sighed at last. "I'm just… worn out, with it all."

"You should go and rest. Go on," she persisted, as he looked about to protest, "I can manage here for a few hours', at least. And Granny will be descending on us soon enough, so take your rest while you can." She shook her head. "Please, Richard. If you don't look after yourself, then who will look after the rest of us?"

* * *

The thing Edith had not expected about Holloway Prison was the smell: over boiled cabbage, and sweat, and laundry soap, and the stench of fear and unhappiness that pervaded the whole place. Discreetly, as they were led to the visiting room, she removed her handkerchief from her skirt pocket and held it over her nose. For a brief, selfish moment, she wished she had not come, that Richard had not permitted it.

The sight of Sybil washed all that away. The prison uniform had washed all colour from her cheeks, it seemed, leaving her pallid and somehow thinner than Edith had remembered her. Her hair was braided neatly, but somehow seemed faintly… unkempt, as if it had not been washed as recently as it ought to have been. "_Sybil!_" Edith sighed, and reached for her sister's hands.

The warder - a stern, middle-aged woman, with hair the colour of rusty iron - coughed. "No touching the prisoner," she snapped.

Edith's hands fell back to her sides, and she contented herself with giving Sybil a warm smile. "How are you?"

"All right." Sybil's own smile was more cheerful than Edith had been expecting. "There are about twenty of us in here, just now, all set for trial on the same day. I'm… holding my end up."

Richard took the seat next to Edith. "Excellent," he bit out. "And I don't suppose you've given a single thought to how _we _were all managing, have you?"

"Richard - " Edith tried, but it was no good.

Sybil's eyes flashed. "I - I couldn't just carry on sitting safely at home like a good little girl and hoping that eventually Mrs Fawcett would win the day! I thought I should go mad, Richard!"

"Some would say that you already have!" he snapped.

"Richard," Edith interrupted, more firmly, "this isn't helpful. Sybil, darling," she continued, before he could start again, "have you got everything you need?"

Sybil smiled weakly at her. "I wouldn't mind some more books. We've the Bible and a pamphlet on being good wives and mothers in our cells, but it's hardly food for the brain. You can send books to the prison library."

Edith nodded. "Send me a list when you write, and I'll see about arranging it all." Trying to be jolly, she added, "And with any luck it won't be at all necessary, because you'll be home with us after Friday anyway, and out of this awful place." Even as she said it, however, she knew that it was a lie.

Sybil gave her a sympathetic look. "I don't think so." Her expression became brave and fixed. "Average sentence for window smashing is three months."

"_If_ you refuse to pay the fine and be bound over to keep the peace," interjected Richard.

Sybil traced a score in the wooden table between them. "You know I can't do that, Richard," she murmured, quiet and serious.

"And why not?" he pressed, bracingly. "All right. You've had your little outburst - you've proven you're a supporter of the Cause, and you've had your stint in prison… but is it really of any use to anyone to serve three months in Holloway when you could just as easily be outside, undertaking work that actually serves some productive purpose?"

"'_My little outburst_'?" Sybil echoed. "Is that what you think this is? Some childish act of rebellion? Richard, I honestly believe that I did the right thing - the _just_ thing - and if the magistrate thinks that that deserves a prison sentence, then so be it. I won't pay a stupid fine, I won't agree to sit quietly at home and not make anyone feel uncomfortable, and I _certainly _won't stop fighting for what I believe in!"

Richard was silent for a moment, and then sat back in his chair. "And you're hunger-striking too, I suppose."

Edith let a little gasp escape her. Despite what she had said to Sir Anthony, she hadn't entirely believed that Sybil would go to such lengths to prove her devotion to the cause. "Oh, Sybil, you _aren't?!_"

Sybil braced her shoulders. "Yes," she said defiantly. "I am."

Richard pursed his lips briefly. "I see. And what happens in five days' time, when they bring out that feeding tube and strap you to your bed and - "

"Richard, that's enough!" Edith interjected; Sybil's eyelashes had fluttered closed momentarily and her pulse throbbed briefly in her throat. Not to mention the fact that Richard's words had made her own stomach jolt unpleasantly, sickly. Slowly, Edith took several deep breaths in through her nose, trying to ignore the new wave of prison smell that came with it. She would _not_ lose her head. She _would not._

"I'm afraid that it _isn't_ enough," Richard returned hotly, "not _nearly_ enough to make her realise what a stupid little girl she's being!"

"I am _not_ \- " Sybil tried, but Richard was nowhere near finished.

"I am _terrified,_" he snapped, his eyes suddenly bright with tears, "_terrified _that you'll only realise how far out of your depth you really are when it's much, much too late for anything to be done to help you." He shook his head.

"Damn you, Sybil. _Damn_ you."


	46. Correspondence

_Dear Sir,_

_Just a line to let you know that I haven't forgotten my duties towards you and Locksley. I don't think I said so at the time - too shaken, I think - but I truly am very grateful that you gave me the time to come down here. It was kinder than I can say._

_We are managing tolerably well. No doubt you heard that Sybil was sentenced last Friday to three months' in the Second Division of Holloway Prison. Richard had tried to persuade her to promise to be bound over instead, and of course, he would have paid her fine, but she flatly refused. So here we are._

_I would like to remain in London for now, as the eventuality of which we spoke, that of Sybil going on hunger-strike, seems likely. I would like to be able to visit her when I can. Forgive me. I must also add that if at this time, you feel it necessary to discharge me and to find another secretary, then I would understand completely, and wish you the very best for your future health and happiness._

_Yours,_

_Edith Crawley_

* * *

_MRS CRAWLEY. STOP. GLAD TO RECEIVE NEWS. STOP. RESIGNATION CATEGORICALLY REJECTED. STOP. LOCKSLEY THINKS OF YOUR EVENTUAL RETURN WITH JOY. STOP. A.P.S. END._

"A telegram?" Richard asked. "From Locksley?"

"Yes," Edith nodded. "Sir Anthony just wanted to make sure that… that I wasn't anxious about my job."

"In a _telegram_?" Mary repeated, disbelievingly. "Wouldn't an ordinary letter have done?" She had arrived home a week ago yesterday, quite ignorant of the goings on at home. There had been a tremendous row, and she and Richard were still at odds. This was the first time in a week Edith had seen them in unison about anything.

Edith blushed. "Well… he sent a telegram instead." Eager to change the subject, she asked, "Shall I fetch Mama for breakfast?"

Upstairs, she let herself smile. That was sweet of him. _Extravagant_, but sweet. She had almost heard his voice as she had read the words on the paper in front of her. _Categorically rejected._ Her smile deepened. _Locksley thinks of your eventual return with joy._ She skipped up the last few steps with far more enthusiasm than she had done anything since Richard's telephone call.

* * *

_Dear Mrs C.,_

_We hope you are well. We are all missing you here and hope that you are missing us. _

_I was picked for the rugby team and hope you will be back to cheer me on in our first match. Hope to hear from you soon._

_Love,_

_Pip_

* * *

_Dear Sir,_

_I write concerning a prisoner currently detained at Holloway Prison, Miss Sybil Crawley. As a friend of her family, I ask permission to send her certain books which may prove of benefit to her during her incarceration, and seek to discover the process by which this may be accomplished._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Sir Anthony Strallan, Bart._

* * *

Yorkshire in early April was prettier than a lot of people realised; especially in the early hours of the morning, when the sun was just rising, gilding everything with pale, rose-gold light, and the sky was just turning blue, and the flowers were little pinpricks of colour in the fields.

And yet none of it was touching her heart at all this morning. Veronica tugged the shawl tighter around her shoulders and shivered. She hadn't slept well the past few nights. Indeed, she had risen at four, not wanting to disturb Flora by tossing and turning. No point in both of them being exhausted and cross.

It wasn't as if she didn't know precisely what was causing it, either. Veronica liked to think of herself as a woman with a strong constitution, but even that didn't make it pleasant to dwell on those few months that she herself had spent at His Majesty's pleasure in Holloway prison. She opened her palm, looking at the small badge that lay there - a portcullis superimposed with three sunbeams in enamelled suffrage colours: purple, white and green. A bitter smile curved her lips. Four months of torture, and a pretty little badge at the end of it.

She had been one of the two-hundred or so women arrested on Black Friday, in 1910, after the suffrage deputation to the Commons' had resulted in what amounted to a riot. After that… the magistrate's court, the sentencing, the hunger-strike, and finally… the indignity of the force-feeding tube.

She hadn't had bad dreams about Holloway for nearly two years now, but all of this business with Edith's little sister had brought it all flooding back. The sensation of being held down so that one was unable to move, the tube down the throat, or up the nose, the sensation of choking, the vomiting afterwards…

Once, she had actually been sick _over_ the doctor. "Do that again," he had threatened, "and I'll feed you twice."[ This is something that actually happened to one suffragette prisoner, Constance Lytton, in 1910. She was the sister of the Earl of Lytton, and disguised herself as a working class seamstress to investigate her suspicions that upper class women were more likely to be spared force-feeding. While being force-fed, Lady Constance vomited over her 'doctor', whose response was the one remembered by Veronica here. Two years' later Constance suffered a stroke; she died in 1923, at a mere 54 years of age.

This was one of the least distressing things I read about while researching this chapter.]

Flora's hand on the small of her back made her flinch. "Sweetheart?" Flora asked, and then saw the badge. Her eyes clouded and she exhaled in sympathy. "Bad dreams again?"

Veronica nodded. "Mmm. Stupid of me."

Flora's arms squeezed around her from behind and she rested her chin on the top of Veronica's head. "Never stupid, my love. It's all this business with Miss Crawley, isn't it? No wonder." Her lips caught the side of Veronica's head and stayed there. "Anything I can do?"

Veronica shook her head. "Not really."

"Do you want to come back to bed?"

Veronica closed her eyes. "No point. Can't sleep."

Flora's hands chafed her arms. "All right. Let's go down, then - have some breakfast." She turned Veronica to face her. "Will you be able to keep it down, if it's something light?"

Reaching up on her tiptoes, Veronica kissed her mouth. "Mmm. I think so."

"Good." Flora nodded. "Toast and tea, and then we'll curl up by the fire and read for a bit, yes? Or we could go for a walk?"

Releasing Veronica, Flora turned to the bed and found her dressing gown buried among the quilt. "I think," Veronica said from behind her, "that I should telephone Ellen Kingsley."

Flora blinked. "Really? You _hate_ Mrs Kingsley."

"I don't… _hate_ her." Veronica wriggled her shoulders uncomfortably.

"_V_…" Flora raised a doubtful eyebrow. At Veronica's set expression, she shrugged her shoulders. "I just… wish you'd tell me why, that's all, darling. Not like you to be stand-offish about people."

"All right." Veronica shrugged. "She and - and my father were… close, once."

"Close - how - how _we're_ close?" murmured Flora, snuggling closer to her.

Veronica nodded stiffly. "Well, you know… I was only a very little girl when Mama died, only ten. He… Papa… at the time, I thought he was just… rushing into things, but, well, I realised much later that… that he'd been carrying on with _Mrs _Kingsley while Mama was alive."

"Oh, darling… But he never married her? She - she was a widow, I take it?"

"Yes." Veronica flushed. "I - I insisted that he break things off with her. And because he loved me… he agreed. Darling Papa." She sniffed loudly. "So you see what a beast you've settled down with?"

Flora kissed her cheek. "Someone less beastly than you I couldn't imagine, my love. But… why write to her? If you dislike her so much?"

"So what if I _do_ hate her?" Veronica scowled. "While my mother was on her deathbed, my father was bedding her - what can you expect? But she _is_ very good at things like this. Prison visiting and writing letters of complaint. And she is in London, which is more than you can say for us."

Flora stroked her cheek. "You _could_ go to London, if you wanted to. I won't shatter into a thousand pieces if you leave me alone for five minutes, you know. And it's not as if I'm going to run off with the housemaid, either." She smirked. "She's not nearly so handsome as you are."

The corners of Veronica's lips turned up briefly, but the smile didn't linger. "I don't _want_ to leave you," she pointed out sensibly. "And you don't want to go to London, which isn't at all surprising."

Flora swallowed. "I - I could bear London, if you wanted to be there for Edith." At Veronica's doubtful look, she insisted, "I _could_. Darling, it isn't as if you don't have somewhere we could stay. As I recall, the flat's terribly comfortable."

"What if we ran into George? Or your father?" Veronica fretted.

Flora squeezed her arm. "Then we'd manage it, together. I don't want to have to hide away for the rest of my life. I don't want _you _to have to hide away, either." She scowled, looking quite fierce for a moment. "Damn the lot of them!"

Veronica squeezed her hand. "I'll write, shall I? See what Ellen can do. Then… well, we'll see."

* * *

_My dear Madam,_

_I hope that this letter finds you well - and that to hear from me does not surprise or displease you overmuch. You and my father were always great friends - on which subject I shall not say more - and I know that your affection for him, or at least for his memory, will help you to excuse my imposing myself on your notice with so little warning, after so many years of silence._

_I have a friend whose sister, at present, is being detained at His Majesty's pleasure in Holloway Prison; I shall not bore you with all the sordid details of her case, but suffice it to say that she is a great supporter of the Cause and of Mrs Pankhurst, and these twin passions have led her to her current state._

_I should count it a great favour, madam, if you - in memory of my late father - would consider taking up her case, and visiting her. I would go to London myself were I able, but regrettably, events at Orton Park of late have overtaken me, and I regret that a visit to the capital will not be possible for some months yet. _

_You and I have, hardly surprisingly, never been great friends; but I do know that my father was not mistaken when he spoke of you as having a generous heart. That generous heart will not, I sincerely hope, ignore the plea of one so desperately in need of your assistance._

_Yours in gratitude,_

_V. Orton_

* * *

_My dear Veronica,_

_I was astonished to receive your letter. It has indeed been many years since I had any connection with your family, and even when I did, we were never terribly good friends._

_But, of course, I should be glad to help your friend and her sister. That generous heart of mine, you know. More generous than some - who shall, of course, remain nameless. In memory of your darling papa, I should be persuaded to do almost anything._

_Send me all the details, and I shall do my utmost._

_Yours,_

_E. K._

* * *

Veronica looked up from the letter, exhaled, and passed it over to Flora, who read it with an expression of growing incredulity. "Oh, my goodness! What a frightful woman!" Flora exclaimed. "To put all of _that _in writing!"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "That's dear Ellen for you." She sighed. "I rather think Papa liked that about her."

"An eye for a free spirit?" Flora grinned. "No wonder he adored you, my dear."

* * *

Several days later, Sir Anthony heard the telephone ringing in the hallway, and then Stewart's firm knock on the half-open study door.

"Telephone call for you, sir," he announced. "From London."

"Mrs Crawley?" Sir Anthony leapt up from his desk chair.

"Yes, sir." Stewart bowed his head, trying and failing to conceal the grin that was breaking out over his usually so stoic features.

Sir Anthony hurried from the room. "Good morning, my dear! How are you?"

Her voice was exhausted when she answered. "Hello, sir. I'm fine. Tired, but fine." She didn't sound fine, at all. In fact, she sounded as if she were collapsing under the strain.

"And Sybil?" he pressed, gently.

There was a crackle over the line as she sighed. "Worse. Hunger-striking. They… they're f-force-feeding her now. It sounds… _barbaric_." They had visited the prison again the day before, and found Sybil thin and bruised, but still defiant. Only that thought was preventing Edith from utterly going to pieces at that moment - and in the face of Sir Anthony's kindness, even that shaky control seemed to be slipping away from her.

"Oh, my dear, it is. It _is_." Casting around for something reassuring to say, he asked, "Has Veronica's friend been to see her?"

"Y-yes. She's been a comfort, I think - although she does seem a little brash. And… thank you, for the books you sent to Sybil. It was _very_ kind of you." Her voice broke again at the last.

Anthony made a decision, the sort that seems to be made without the brain having engaged itself in any sort of conscious thought. "Look here, my dear, I'm terribly glad you've telephoned. I'm coming up to London tomorrow on business - why don't I look in on you, hmm? Take you for a spot of dinner? Nothing fancy, just… some time away from your family? Things must be frightfully severe there just now."

"That… would be _wonderful_." Her voice was sad. "But I'm promised to my grandmother, and I honestly don't have the energy to quarrel with her at the moment." He could imagine her in that moment, almost see her brushing a lock of hair away from her forehead in frustration, see the wan look in her eye as she refused him.

"Luncheon, then?" he persisted.

"You'll have to leave Locksley at the crack of dawn to be in London for lunch!" Of course, she would sound animated when she was scolding him! "Don't be silly, sir!"

"I like the early train," he persisted quietly. "I'll call for you around one o'clock, shall I?"

"Oh, I…" She hesitated, he heard her sigh again, and then she gave in. "Oh, yes, all right. I'll… look forward to it." This last said in a much quieter voice, almost as if she had not entirely wished him to hear it.

"Cheerio, then, dear girl. Until tomorrow."

Edith set the telephone down gently in the receiver and turned away to return to Mama. She had only telephoned to thank him for the telegram, and to keep him informed as to what was going on in London. And then for him to be coming to London! What a wonderful coincidence!

It brightened her, somehow, to think that she would see him tomorrow. So soon! Only a few hours', and he would be there. It was a single, sparkling spot in the midst of the mire to which her life had narrowed. She felt she could endure anything with that one thought in her head, that tomorrow he would be there, to be seen and spoken to, and laughed with.

She had not realised how much she had missed him, until the sudden prospect of a visit from him had appeared before her. Now, despite Sybil's awful situation, despite Mary and Richard's quarrels, despite Mama's unhappiness, there was something before her in which she could take joy.

And, oh, how she thanked God for him!

* * *

He was punctual - on time to the dot, as always - the next day. "Miss Crawley, please," he smiled at the slightly sullen housemaid who admitted him. "Sir Anthony Strallan." But as he spoke, a door to his left swung open and Edith appeared, already in coat and hat, almost as if she had been hovering in wait for him.

"Hel_lo_!" he smiled. "Gosh, aren't _you_ a sight to gladden any employer's eyes!" But he noted that her cheeks were somewhat paler and thinner, and that there was a wan-ness about her that had not been there the last time they had seen each other. Still, she managed a smile as she saw him, and there was (unless he was tricking himself) real gladness in her eyes. It was enough - he was vindicated - he was immensely glad that he had come when he had.

"And _you_ any employee's." She blushed as they shook hands - absurdly reminded of that last night in the library before she had left, when he had been so very close to kissing her. "Hello, sir."

"Shall we?" He ushered her out on to the street and offered her his arm. "Now, you might find it frightfully Bohemian, but we're ten minutes' walk from Hyde Park and there is a man there who sells the most delicious hot pies you'll ever taste in your life. What do you say?"

Edith sighed in bliss. "I say lead on, sir. I… haven't had much time for walks lately."

"Has everything been _absolutely_ awful?"

She nodded tightly. "Worse than you can _possibly_ imagine. Mama… she's utterly collapsed. Mary and Richard are at each others' throats, constantly. And Sybil… well, would you like to have a glycerine-coated tube shoved down your throat three times a day?" Discreetly, he saw her dab away at a tear. "I - I can't stop thinking about that, you know. Even after she's released… she'll take that memory to her grave." Everything that she had been keeping locked up inside her for the last two weeks came pouring out in the face of his quiet, unobtrusive kindness.

"Oh, my dear…"

"I - I didn't quite realise, before, how - how brave these women must be." Edith looked up at him. "I - I _joked_ with Richard once, you know, that I p-pitied the gaoler who'd have to force-feed Sybil, if she ever ended up in prison."

His face creased with sympathy. "My dear girl, you couldn't possibly have known - "

"Even so, it seems such a thoughtless, _horrid_ thing to have said." She sniffed once and made an effort to bring herself back under some modicum of self-control. "Sorry. I shouldn't be burdening you with all of this."

"Nonsense. Unburden yourself as much as you like, my dear. You're under a tremendous amount of strain, and no one can endure that for long without needing… a release of some sort." He squeezed her elbow fondly. "Not even someone as strong as you."

"I don't feel at all strong," Edith confessed, as they turned into Hyde Park. "I feel as if one day, quite unexpectedly, I'll just fall down and… not get up again."

"Come on," Sir Anthony jollied her, steering her towards the brightly painted pie-cart. Really, he was getting rather anxious about her. He had seen her cross and weeping and horridly unhappy - but never had he seen so utterly without hope. "I won't say that it will fix _everything_, but you _will_ feel better after you've eaten." To the cheerful man on the pie stall, he added, "Two of the steak and kidney, please."

They sat on a bench in the park despite the cold wind and ate the hot steak and kidney pies with their fingers, lifting them to their mouths to bite off each chunk. Granny would have been shocked, but Edith thought, as the first steaming hot mouthful slid down her throat, that it was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. By the time she had finished it, she was feeling at least a little brighter. Sheepishly, she stole a glance at Sir Anthony. "Sir - "

She got no further. Giving her a dry smile, her employer said, "If you're about to thank me, my girl, then I must warn you that I won't be responsible for my actions." He sighed. "We've worked together for long enough now, haven't we, that you… see me as a sort of friend, as well as an employer?"

"Of course," she replied immediately. "But… you know, this was just what I needed."

"Excellent." He gave her a mock salute. "Mission accomplished, ma'am."

She laughed and it warmed his heart. "You've been having a damnable time of it, haven't you, my dear?" he murmured, squeezing her hand and keeping it held loosely in her own.

"Yes," she admitted quietly. "But let's not talk about it any more. Let me just have an hour or so to be selfish and… put it all out of my mind. How's Master Pip?"

"Oh, in rude health. Sorry you couldn't be at his rugby match last week."

"So was I. But… everything's… on hold while Sybil's…" She couldn't stop thinking about her little sister for even a _minute_, let alone an hour! Foolish to think it possible.

"He understands. We all do." Casting around for another topic, he added, "Claudia sends her love. Do you know, she and Hugh are going to be grandparents, for the third time? Their youngest daughter's expecting."

"How lovely!" He had surprised a smile from her. "I'll write, and congratulate them."

"She'll like that. She's hoping for a girl, of course - a future member of the motorcar club."

"Flora and Veronica have been so kind, you know," Edith told him earnestly. "Veronica sent a long letter full of advice last week, and Flora's put us in touch with so many people who can see Sybil. The Penal Reform League, and all that, you know. Everyone has been… absolutely _wonderful_."

"I don't know why you're so surprised. You're a tight-knit little group, my dear, and you look after your own." Nudging her shoulder gently, he pointed out, sensibly, "You'd do the same, wouldn't you, in their position?"

"Of _course_ I would, but…" She blushed a little and the end of her sentence trailed off.

Anthony raised his eyebrows. "But for some reason, you don't expect everyone to rally around _you_ when you're in trouble?" he hazarded a guess.

"Something like that, I suppose."

"Well, for once, I'm glad that you've been proven wrong. Now - a turn around the park? Postprandial constitutional?"

"Lovely, sir."

* * *

As they headed back towards home, Edith felt her feet becoming leaden, as if by walking more slowly she could postpone indefinitely that awful moment when she would have to say goodbye to him, for who knew how long. "Wh-when do you go back to Locksley?" she asked bravely as they reached the corner of the street.

"Oh, I've not quite decided," he answered, in an off-hand voice. "If… if you'd like, I could… call again?"

Edith looked up at him, a sudden suspicion striking her. "Sir… you weren't coming to London at all before I spoke to you, were you?"

A muscle twitched in his cheek as if he were holding back a smile, and a faint tinge of red appeared on his cheekbones. "Don't be ridiculous, Mrs Crawley, of course I was."

"Why? You said you had meetings? With whom?"

He dug his free hand into his pocket and took her arm to guide her safely across the road. "Oh, just… meetings. Dull old things with Forrester." He coughed. "Land… things. Just… meetings."

Edith chuckled. "You're an awful liar, sir." Her laughter faded. "And I don't think _I'm_ the one who's ridiculous. I'm sorry you've wasted so much time."

He stopped and turned to face her. "It wasn't a waste of time, Edith. Not at all. Your happiness is not - " He stopped suddenly and brushed a hand across his eyes. Then, very slowly and carefully, he repeated, "Your happiness is _not_ a waste of time."

She could not meet his eyes. "Well… you mustn't stay in London for long. Master Pip - Master Pip can't be left without both of us. It isn't at all fair, you know."

He huffed out an exasperated laugh. "No. I suppose you're right - as always." He sighed. "But I wish… I wish I could be sure that you had someone here to take care of you properly."

Edith looked up at him. "Oh, I don't need taking care of," she declared, throwing her shoulders back and fixing a jolly smile on her face. "_Much_ stronger than I look, I promise."

"Well, I won't argue there." He took her arm. "Let me walk you to the door."

"It's only up the street, sir - "

His voice was calm and quiet. "Then it won't be an inconvenience to me, then, will it?"

They shook hands on the doorstep. "Write, won't you?" Sir Anthony said. "Just a line every so often, so that we know how you're getting along."

"Of course." The door was like a malevolent presence at her back, waiting to swallow her back up into misery. She forced a smile. "Give Master Pip a kiss from me, won't you?"

"Of course. Goodbye, my dear."

"Goodbye, sir."

Inside, she had barely taken her coat off before the drawing room door opened and Mary announced, "Oh, you're back! _Finally_!"

Edith sighed. "I was only gone for an hour or so, Mary."

"Mama wanted someone to sit with her."

"I'm sure you managed."

Mary scowled. "I shouldn't have to _manage_. We need to be pulling together now, not each of us going off gallivanting when we feel like it!"

The rage rose in Edith's throat, almost choking her, but she swallowed it away. Scratching Mary's eyes out wouldn't help Sybil, or Mama, or Richard - no matter how much it would help relieve her own tempestuous feelings. Instead, without another word, she turned for the stairs.

"Edith? _Edith?!_"


	47. Cat-And-Mouse

**AN: Well, here's the next chapter - much later than I'd originally planned! Two weeks' ago, my school had a visit from Ofsted (the government's inspectorate of schools, for non-UK followers) - overall, a positive experience, but it threw us all completely off course in terms of workload, and writing regrettably took a back seat! Enjoy...**

* * *

In the drawing room of her brother-in-law's house, Edith sat and read the newspaper. Outside, it was raining, great watery stair-rods hammering down on the pavement. Upstairs, she could hear the faint sound of raised voices. Mary and Richard snapping at each other again, she supposed. She rolled her eyes and focused her attention on the article in front of her:

**_GOVERNMENT COMPROMISES: 'CAT AND MOUSE ACT' PASSES_**

Edith scanned through the article quickly; it was, after all, nothing she hadn't already heard from Richard's solicitor: _suffrage prisoners on hunger strike… providing for early release on health grounds… re-arrest once sufficient recovery has taken place…_

Her lips curled faintly. She ought to be happy - _Mama_ certainly had been; even Richard had cracked a grim smile when he had heard of it - but she could not bring herself to be. Yes, the force-feeding would stop, and Sybil would shortly be released into their care, to recuperate from her ordeal, but now it would all be just… dragged out, wouldn't it - her suffering lengthened? Every time she had been to the prison, Sybil had been more and more drawn _and withdrawn_, a mere ghost of the lively, spirited creature who had entered just a few short weeks ago.

Edith did not think that any sort of recuperation would ever cure her little sister of _that._

* * *

"Oh, by the way, Edith," Richard said over lunch, "I saw Sir Anthony Strallan this morning - in Town visiting his mother. I invited him for dinner, on Saturday night - to celebrate Sybil coming home." It was just the two of them - Mary was out at a charity committee meeting, and Mama was in bed with a tray. Richard had gone in early to the office to look at some proofs, but was working from home for the rest of the day, as he had been doing so often since Sybil had gone to prison, in case he were needed.

Edith dropped her fork with a sudden clatter. "I - I didn't know he was in London," she murmured, trying to cover her confusion. "Dinner? Do you think that's a good idea? Sybil will be much too tired to attend, I should think, even by Saturday. And… Richard, you must remember that she isn't coming home for good, not yet. You know they'll make her go back and finish the rest of her sentence, once she's better."

Richard gave her a grim look. "Not if I can persuade her to agree to be bound over, while she's here. Perhaps this - this force-feeding business will have shaken some sense into her."

Edith raised an eyebrow. "A little too much to hope for, I would have said. But… it's a thought." She bit her lip. "Does Mary know? About Sir Anthony coming to dinner?"

"Yes." The answer was brief. It had escaped no one's notice that Richard had been sleeping in one of the guest rooms. Edith's face creased with sympathy. "I told her before she went out," Richard added. "She says she'll be glad."

"Really?" Edith pursed her lips. "That doesn't sound like her." _Was that what they had been quarrelling about?_

"I'll make sure she doesn't cause any trouble. I know - I know you like Sir Anthony - "

"Of course I do," Edith answered, far too brightly. "He's an excellent employer, and he's been so terribly kind - to me, to Sybil… Mary - Mary doesn't understand people like that, and… and I'd be so ashamed if she made him feel… as if he wasn't appreciated."

Richard stood, squeezing her shoulder. "I'll make sure she knows to leave her bite upstairs."

Edith let out a short, humourless laugh, and set aside her napkin. "All right. Well, I'm going to sort out Sybil's room this afternoon. Lots of blankets, I thought, and flowers, perhaps… comforting things." She blinked. "I might get the maids to move the little sofa from Mama's room into Sybil's, if she'll agree to it, just so that I can sleep there for the first night or so. I've read somewhere that invalids in cases like these oughtn't to be left alone. And I want to talk to Cook about some light, nourishing dishes, and - "

Richard dropped a fond kiss onto the top of her head - utterly affectionate and utterly unlike him - and Edith fell silent, blinking startled up at him. "_Whatever_ would we do without you?" he asked. "I can see now why Sir Anthony is so keen to have you back at Locksley."

* * *

The Post Office cashier had been very kind and accommodating, but still Mary lifted the receiver with no little trepidation. What if someone recognised her? Overheard the call she was making? Wouldn't it be seen as suspicious, to call her cousin from a public telephone kiosk rather than from her own home? "Hello?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Hello. This is Downton Abbey, and this is Carson the butler speaking."

Mary half-smiled. "Hello, Carson. Lady Carlisle here. Is his lordship available?"

"Hello, my lady." Carson's voice, usually so stern, softened a fraction. He had a soft spot for his master's cousin, and always had done, ever since she had been a mischievous girl running around the Abbey grounds with her sisters. "I shall put you through directly."

"Thank you."

There was a moment's silence, the click of another receiver being lifted, and then: "_Mary_…" Matthew exhaled, his voice full of longing. "Thank God. Are you all right? All this business with Sybil…"

"I'm f-fine," Mary managed. "Can you talk?"

"Yes." She heard Matthew swallow. "Lavinia's out. Some charity thing."

"And your mother?" Mary checked. Matthew was so much more trusting than she was, so much less aware of the need for secrecy and subtlety.

"Tea with a friend," he reassured her. "_God_, I've missed your voice."

Mary made an indistinct noise. "I… I want your legal advice."

A slight pause, and then Matthew's voice, a touch stiffer, asked, "My legal advice?"

"Yes." Her voice was crisp. "About Sybil. This… Cat-and-Mouse Act thing. I want to know exactly what it involves."

There was an awkward pause, and then Matthew said, quite normally, "Of course. Whatever I can do to help. I was surprised that Carlisle didn't come to me in the first place, when she got herself into this scrape."

"Were you?" Mary's voice was dry. "You know he's horridly jealous of you." She sighed. "With good reason, I suppose."

"Is it?" Matthew asked.

"Is it what?" Mary blinked.

"Reasonable." Matthew's voice was cool. "Surely he realises that he's nothing to be jealous of."

"_Matthew_…" Mary sighed, frustrated, but he interrupted.

"One blissful week of sharing your bed, and then you… waltz off back to London and I haven't heard from you since."

"Sybil's in prison," Mary replied steadily. "The whole house has been in uproar - I haven't had five minutes to myself!" She tutted and then reminded him, a little loftily, "Anyway, it isn't as if this was ever… ever going to be a - a permanent liaison. It was just… two people who are very attracted to each other, satisfying a - a momentary need for physical comfort, in the absence of other options."

"Really? Is that really all it this is to you?"

"We're married, Matthew, both of us." Mary's voice was hard. "Your wife is pregnant and I - "

"And what has Richard Carlisle ever done to deserve your loyalty?" Matthew snapped in an undertone.

"He _married_ me, Matthew," Mary hissed. "He's never asked me to hide any part of myself from him - "

"No," Matthew snorted, "only the parts that he finds too soft and weak - "

"I am _not _weak!" Her voice was deep with fury, and shook with every syllable.

There was a sudden silence, save the crackling down the line of their mutual breathing. "So… will you help with Sybil, or not?" Mary asked eventually. "Write to me, and tell me all about this new law, and what it will mean for her case?"

"Yes." Matthew's voice was positively venomous. "Wouldn't want you to feel you hadn't got a fair trade for your favours."

He heard her inhale sharply - and then the ominous click of the phone as she slammed it down on him.

* * *

They collected Sybil from prison the next morning - just Edith and Richard. Mary, pleading a headache, was still abed - and Mama hadn't been able to face the idea of Holloway.

There seemed an awful lot of paperwork to sign before Sybil was released into their care. Miss Crawley would not engage in suffrage activity while released. Miss Crawley would not be permitted to leave the country. If Miss Crawley broke the terms of her _temporary_ release (this adjective being very firmly emphasised) then she would be immediately rearrested. In a month's time, subject to her recovery, Miss Crawley would be returned to Holloway Prison to continue serving her sentence.

After all of this mundanity had been settled, they guided Sybil out to the car, Edith struggling to contain the terror washing through her as she felt how thin and fragile her little sister really was. Her face was drawn and waxy, and she seemed… _shrunken_ somehow, with a dry, hacking cough that made Edith even more anxious. She could only hope that with rest and food, Sybil would begin to recover.

Uncle John met them at home, and Richard carried Sybil immediately up to her bedroom. It was a mark of how truly ill she was that she did not even protest. She _did _protest - if _protest _were the right word, with Sybil mimicking nothing so much as a trapped fox at the mercy of hunting hounds - at Uncle John's examining fingers, however, until Edith brushed soothing fingers through her hair and held her hand. "Darling, it's perfectly all right. Just Uncle John, checking you're all right. I promise. I'm here." _God_, she thought, _what has she endured in there, to make her so frightened of a _doctor_, for Heaven's sake?_

Edith sat with her for the rest of the day, joined by Mama and Mary at various intervals, ensuring that the invalid had plenty of sleep, and managed some water and a few spoonfuls of beef tea when she awoke.

_Would you do it again, I wonder, Sybil? _Edith thought, watching her sister twitch and murmur in her sleep. _If you could turn back the clock, would you do the same again?_

* * *

Mama had taken a turn much for the better, now that Sybil had arrived, however temporarily, home. Edith was hard pressed to remind her that this stay at home was not permanent - the way Mama was talking, it was as if Sybil had been formally released, her sentence fully served, so that she could 'put this whole awful business behind her.'

She was accordingly delighted that Sir Anthony would be joining them for dinner. "He was so kind to darling Sybil while she was away," she smiled fondly at Edith. "You really did choose well when you started working for him, you know."

"Yes," Edith smiled, pleased. It was unusual that anyone in her family made obvious any sort of approval over anything that she had done; and Sir Anthony, for some reason, really was someone of whom she wanted her mother to approve. "You - you will try to be welcoming to him, won't you, Mama, and make sure that Mary isn't too - isn't too, well, _Mary-ish_?"

Her mother shot her a fond, half-despairing look. "Oh, my darling. You've never got along, really, have you - you two?"

"No." Edith forced a little smile. "Not really."

Mama reached over and squeezed her hand. "Why don't we go shopping tomorrow morning? Buy a new dress for you? Sir Anthony must be tired of seeing that cream gown by now, I'm sure!"

Edith shrugged. "Can we afford the time away from Sybil?"

"Mary will be here - I'll talk to her. And she has Smith to help her - such a treasure of a lady's maid."

Edith bit her lip. "Perhaps… perhaps that would be nice." She frowned. "Not - not for Sir Anthony, necessarily, just… it might be nice to have a new dress."

"I quite agree." Really, Mama looked more animated than she had done in weeks now, and Edith was glad she had agreed, even if this were the only consequence of it. "We'll go to Selfridges - make a day of it!"

* * *

"I'm not at all sure about this…" Edith sighed as her mother clapped her hands together in delight and the shop assistant beamed.

"Nonsense, it looks divine on you," Mama insisted. "Of course, you'll never be exactly a beauty - not like _Mary_ \- but… in something like this… Edith, you really do look very striking."

Edith smiled helplessly. She was used to being reminded that she was not as pretty as her older sister. Mama didn't mean anything by it. It no longer even stung, not really, not as it had when she had been younger. Her fingers brushed hesitantly against the deep purple velvet and swept up to ghost along the sequin-embroidered butterfly at the 'v' of her breasts. The gauzy silk lace sleeves just brushed her elbows.

Mischievously, her mother added, "Does Sir Anthony like purple?"

"_Mama…_"

Her mother raised her hands in placation. "All right, all right. But… well, there's no harm in my wanting to see you settled, is there? And after Mr Pelham - "

"Mama," Edith answered firmly, "Bertie and I went our separate ways for good reasons, and no amount of your pleading or nagging is going to change that. And - please - don't embarrass Sir Anthony by - by trying to - to… to dream up things that aren't there."

Her mother glided over and stood behind Edith, hands on her shoulders. Kissing her cheek, Cora only said, "Borrow my purple satin gloves, why don't you?"

* * *

As soon as Edith heard his knock at the door, dead on time, she hurried down the stairs - as quickly as she could in the hobble skirt - to be the one to greet him. "Good evening, sir."

"Good evening, my dear. Playing the housemaid this evening?" he asked, amused, as he stepped inside.

"Oh." Edith rolled her eyes. "Yes. Well… my sister took spite against the head housemaid yesterday and dismissed her." It had all happened at just the wrong time too. But the girl had smashed one teacup too many, just as Mary and Richard had had _another_ quarrel, and so she had been sent packing.

_Ah_, Anthony thought. _So you've been left to manage things, my dear. I see._

Edith sighed, blushing a little. "We must seem awfully disorganised. I'm sorry. Everyone's been rather… uptight, of late."

Casting around for something to say that would distract her, he offered, "I say, you look… _splendid_. New frock?" He took off his hat and Edith received it from him. Goodness - forget about _her _dress! He really did look _marvellous_ in white tie, she thought, as she led him through to the drawing room. "Thank you," she murmured, suddenly glad that she had let Mama persuade her. Then it struck her that that look in his eyes might not have been simple, pleased surprise, but rather also disapproval that she had had time to go shopping when she had been _supposed_ to be looking after Sybil.

She blushed. "Mama insisted," she added quickly. "Mary was looking after Sybil, of course. We were only away for a few hours."

His expression was kind. "My dear, you've had other, much more important things to occupy you recently than shopping. You're entitled to a little respite now and then," he reminded her, a touch severely. "And how _is_ Miss Sybil?"

"Oh, well enough." Edith gestured him into a good chair by the fire; it was turning damp outside, and she did not, after all, want him to catch cold. "Better than I expected, to be honest, now that she's rested a bit and is eating again. My godfather tells me the human body is tremendously resilient, and it seems he's right. She's not eating with us, but she might poke her head into the drawing room before we go through. She wants to thank you for those books you sent to her. As do I."

"You've already thanked me," he pointed out lightly.

"Well, in that case, I want to thank you again," Edith rejoined gently. "Can I offer you a glass of sherry, sir?"

"That would be lovely, my dear. Thank you." As he sat down, he lifted the basket he had been carrying, which Edith - too focused on _him _\- had not noticed until now. "Oh, yes, I almost forgot… just a few things, for Miss Sybil. And for you, of course."

_Of course. _As if it were obvious that he would bring _her_ something. As if she were not just a simple afterthought. Edith turned, the sherry glass in one hand, a startled, solemn look in her eyes. "Oh. For us? Th-thank you." Shyly, she took the basket and set it on the table to empty it.

"It's nothing much," he added hastily, sounding almost embarrassed. "Just… a little of Mrs Cox's fruit cake, and some of that blackberry jam that you like so much, some pears from the orangery, a book or two - "

Edith had already piled up all the edible items, and was lifting the tomes out as he spoke. "Holmes?" she smiled.

"Yes." He shrugged. "I thought… something light and nonsensical? And they're short, most of them - I thought perhaps… Miss Sybil might enjoy having them read to her. Might take _your_ mind off all this horridness, too - you being such a wonderful detective yourself."

Edith sighed blissfully, even as she chuckled. "Yes, they certainly will. What a lovely thought, sir."

"And _Barchester Towers_ for you, too. I think you'll like Trollope. His sense of humour reminds me of yours, just a touch."

"Thank you." Her fingers stroked down the covers of the books as if they were something far more precious. "I'll post them back to you as soon as I've finished."

"There's no hurry, I promise." He looked at her half-sadly. "Dare I ask when we'll have you at home again?" He bit his lip. "Of course, you mightn't consider us your home, at all, but - "

"No!" Edith blurted out. "No, I… well, if 'home' is a place where you are meant to feel safe and contented, then… then I think Locksley _is_ a home to me. Very much so." She sighed. "I'm sorry. I can't say when I'll be back. I - Richard seems to think he'll be able to convince Sybil to be bound over - not to have to go back and serve the rest of her sentence, but… I don't think it's very likely at all. She's too stubborn, and she cares too much. And I want to see her free and well again, before I can even think of anything else."

"Of course you do." He gave her an apologetic smile and squeezed her elbow, his fingers - catching those few bare inches of flesh between gown and evening glove - making her skin hum pleasantly at his touch. "Forgive me, my dear, it was a foolish question to ask of you."

They heard footsteps in the passage. Almost frantically, Edith clutched at his hand. "You know, don't you," she murmured urgently, speaking quickly, her eyes lowered shyly, "that if it were up to me - if I had _any_ sort of choice - I'd throw everything up in a minute and go back with you tomorrow?"

"I - " he began, and then the door opened and Mama came in, pretty despite her pallor and the weariness of watching over Sybil that afternoon. The invalid herself came in alongside her, in the wheelchair Uncle John had sent round, swathed in a blanket, and smiling almost slyly at the sight of her sister and her companion.

"Mrs Crawley, hello. Miss Sybil. How do you do?" Sir Anthony turned away, a perfect gentleman, to greet his hostess, and Edith was left to wonder what he might have said, if Mama and Sybil had been only a few seconds slower.

* * *

"Are you quite well, my dear?" Sir Anthony asked her under his breath, as the fish course was removed, with half of Edith's halibut still on its plate. She'd spent the last fifteen minutes chasing mouthfuls listlessly around her plate, and it apparently had not gone unnoticed.

She gave him a wan smile. "Yes. Just tired, and not particularly hungry. I didn't have much time for breakfast or lunch today - I don't think my stomach can manage so much food all in one go."

He sighed. "_Promise_ me that you'll take care of yourself, once I've gone home?" His eyes slid over to Lady Carlisle and Sir Richard. "I'm sure your sister wouldn't want _you_ collapsing too, you know."

Edith shrugged. "Oh, I'm all right. I don't really think Mary would notice." She gave another one of those tired smiles, the ones that made her look so much older than she was, the ones that made him ache inside. "Don't worry. I know everyone needs to focus on Sybil just now. I shan't make a nuisance of myself."

"That isn't why I'm - " He stopped and frowned. "Surely that isn't how they'd see it?"

At that moment, as if by magic, Mary looked over at Edith. "You're looking dreadfully pale, Edith. I hope you aren't sickening for something. It'd be horridly inconvenient, you know, when we all need to be looking after Sybil."

It cut so closely to what they had been talking about only a moment before that Anthony could barely stop himself from gaping. Mrs Crawley, on Edith's other side, squeezed her hand briefly and impersonally. "Yes, darling," she murmured vaguely, "it would be so difficult to have to do without you."

"Perhaps get an early night tonight, hmm?" Richard added. "Up bright and early tomorrow, for when your Uncle John comes to see to Sybil?"

"Yes," Edith agreed quietly. She could feel Sir Anthony's eyes burning into the side of her head, and knew that if she looked at him, she would see such kindness, such sympathy, that she would not be able to avoid breaking down. Instead, she focused her attention on the casseroled chicken that was set down in front of her, and did not look up again until the conversation had quite moved on.

At the end of the evening, she was permitted to say goodnight to him alone in the hallway, and to see him out, in consequence of the fact that he was really her guest, even though Richard had been the one to invite her.

"Promise me," he repeated firmly, "that you _will_ take good care of yourself. Square meals and decent nights' sleep, yes?"

"Yes." Her answering smile was quick and forced. Suddenly, she pressed a hand to her forehead and her voice was thick with tears. "God, I wish I were coming home," she whispered.

"You could," Sir Anthony murmured. "I could… talk to Sir Richard - pretend to be the indignant employer, deprived of his secretary? Demand to have you returned to your post, post-haste, as it were? You look in a bad way, my dear and - "

Edith shook her head, dashing away tears from her eyes with her wrist. "No, no. I'm being silly. I'm needed here. I'm just… so _awfully_ tired."

"And here I am keeping you up," he tutted. "If I'd realised how exhausted you were, I wouldn't have come. I doubt a formal dinner has done anything good for your composure."

"No," Edith contradicted him warmly, "it was _very_ good to see you. Again. Very kind of you to keep… dashing up to London. Well… goodnight, sir."

He kissed her fingers, brief and warm, fixing her with that kind look again, the one that made her feel wanted and valued - and then he was opening the door and hurrying out into the night. He turned at the bottom of the steps to wave up at her, lifting his hat as he did so, and then he hailed a cab and was gone.

* * *

He puzzled over it all the way home - what had possessed him to try to convince her to come back with him? Why, after all she had said, after all the logical reasons she had given him, did he still want to bring her back with him, as soon as possible? Why had her tears woken some sort of ravening, protective beast in his chest that had wanted to roar out loud in her defence?

Goodness, he'd really fallen for her, hadn't he? He stopped dead on the middle step to Strallan House. Logically, he had known he was attracted to her for some considerable time now, but… but anything beyond that - anything beyond an appreciation for her beauty and her steady, charming character… But now there was no denying it anymore. He did not even want to.

Seeing her there among her family had been like a lightning bolt of clarity through him. So quiet, so overlooked, working so tirelessly behind the scenes to make everyone's lives more comfortable, with no one - _no one,_ not even Sir Richard, not even her mama - making the least effort to check that she was all right. It made a hot thrill of anger run through him. Could they not see how tired she was? How desperate for someone to come and relieve her of her burdens?

And, he realised, if someone were to do that, he wanted it to be _him_. He wanted to be able to hold her, to comfort her when she was sad, to share her troubles. He wanted to make sure that she never felt lonely or forgotten or _anything less than adored_ for the rest of her life. God, he had wanted nothing more tonight than to be allowed to carry her out of that house and back to Locksley, away from all that drudgery and misery, back to people who cared for her, who would not expect her to do more than her fair part, who would not take advantage of her kind, thoughtful nature, but would instead value all the little ways by which she made a house a home.

A shaky, determined smile broke out on his face. When she returned to Locksley, when she was quite recovered from all this awful business, when he had brought them back to normality… he would set out his case, and pray to God that she would consider accepting him.


	48. Break

"Lady Fyfe, sir," Stewart offered quietly at the doorway.

Anthony brushed a tired hand over his eyes. He ought to have known that this conversation would be happening sooner or later. Really, he had put it off for too long already. It was time, now, he supposed - time to ensure that Ginny knew that there would never be anything more between them than friendship.

She entered, smiling brightly, and most definitely dressed to attract - more silk and lace than was usual for such an early hour of the day. It probably would have worked, too, he thought wryly, if he had been twenty years younger, and hadn't been still utterly occupied by thoughts of Edith. "Hello, Virginia," he smiled, faint and polite, rising as she entered.

"Hello, Anthony, darling." Slowly, she advanced towards him, stopping to prop herself against his desk. Anthony resisted the urge to step away. "I wasn't sure if you'd still be in London."

"I got back this morning."

Virginia reached out and brushed an imaginary fleck of dust from his lapel. Anthony flinched. "Oh, darling, you must be _exhausted_." She tutted. "_So_ much trouble that silly Crawley chit's causing you."

Anthony drew himself up. "Not at all. She's done nothing - nothing save wish to take care of her sister." A pause, and he added, firmly, "Most admirable."

Ginny blinked. "But… _really_, Anthony, I'm sure you only say these things to be provoking! She's - well, surely she's tainted by association now, isn't she?" She laughed, brittle and forced. "I quite thought you'd gone down to give her her notice!"

"Absolutely _not_." His voice came out clipped and cross and terse. Virginia stopped, wide-eyed, and actually took a step back and away from him.

"You astonish me," she murmured, in a breathy, light voice, some of her confidence gone. And then a slow, mocking smile spread across her face, and she shook her head, like a fond mother about to scold a somewhat recalcitrant child. "Ah. Of course. I'd almost forgotten. Your little… _tendresse_ for her." There was more than a touch of spite there.

"Ginny…" he tried.

"And of _course_," she continued, voice shaking even as she tried to keep her tone light and airy, "I expect you're now about to tell me that I'm being thrown over for another woman… _again_."

"Ginny, my dear, I should never have kept up this connection - it was leading you on…" He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Mrs Crawley and I are… we are not engaged in any sort of - of improper relationship. But… but it's true that… that I… that my feelings for her are… are more - "

"Spare me, please!" Ginny snorted. "I've already endured you doing this once, Anthony, I _truly_ do not need to hear you do it again. Do you _honestly_ expect me to believe that you aren't bedding her?" Her lip curled witheringly. "It wouldn't be the first time you'd… let yourself put the cart before the horse, shall we say?"

There was silence for a moment, as Anthony's face became an impassive mask. "I don't expect you to _believe_ anything, Virginia," he replied eventually, in tones of stiff politeness. "I am sorry, but if you hold out any hope of you and I… rekindling anything, then… then you will be disappointed. I - I thought you understood that - at Christmas-time, when you…"

Virginia let out a harsh chuckle. "Your head's been turned, that's all. You've seen a pretty face and you've lost your reason. That's just what men are like." She stepped forwards. "But it doesn't matter. George did it often enough, after all, and he always came crawling back eventually. In a year, you'll have realised how foolish you're being, I guarantee it." Silence, and then she spat, "She'll never take you, you know."

Anthony's mouthed quirked up into a desolate smile. "Oh, I'm quite sure you're right there. But I feel I must try in any case."

"She hasn't the _brains_ to see what she'd be rejecting." She picked up her handbag, twin flushes of indignant shame burning in her cheeks. "Perhaps you deserve each other."

"Virginia - "

She turned on her heel and stormed out.

Anthony sank back into his chair and covered his face briefly with his hand, running it down over his eyes and nose and mouth in regretful exhaustion. _Well_, _that was that, then,_ he supposed. It hadn't gone well, but… at least everything was out in the open now. Clear and above board.

And once Ginny had calmed down, she'd see… she'd see that she didn't want to be tied down to a man who didn't love her. She'd tried that once, after all, with George Fyfe, and it hadn't gone at all well.

Yes. Everything would be all right. He was sure it would be.

* * *

"Um… Miss Edith?"

Edith looked up from where she was folding a blanket at the end of Sybil's bed, and smiled warmly at Lucy. The new housemaid was proving herself to be both efficient and friendly - a good combination when her employer and his family were so frazzled - and since she had started, at the end of the previous week, she had made herself most useful to Edith.

"What is it, Lucy?"

"Gentleman downstairs to see you, miss." Lucy bobbed a brief curtsey. "Name of Mr Branson."

In the bed, Sybil gave a soft, little exclamation and clutched at Edith's hand.

"And you're sure he's here to see me?" Edith checked. Hastily, she added, "He's a journalist at Sir Richard's paper, you see."

"Definitely for you, miss. He asked if her ladyship were here first, but she's out…" Lucy hovered anxiously in the doorway. "Are you at home to him, miss?"

"Yes. Of course." Hastily, Edith took off her apron and tossed it over the bedside chair. "Show him into the drawing room, will you, Lucy?"

Housemaid dispatched, Edith lifted an eyebrow at Sybil. "I take it that he's come in compliment to you, my dear."

Sybil nodded. "He - he wrote to me, while I was in prison." For some reason, she didn't sound terribly happy about it. She wriggled her shoulders, scowling. "A lot of nonsense about staying safe, and not going on hunger strike and 'other ways to serve the Cause'." The scowl deepened, making her look quite ferocious. "I _thought_ that we understood each other - that he wanted the same things as I do."

Edith kissed the top of her head, suddenly somewhat reassured. "I'm sure he does, my dear - but he loves you enough that he wants you safe more. And I won't disapprove of that, I'm afraid."

* * *

Mr Branson stood as soon as Edith entered the drawing room, twisting his hat anxiously between his fingers. His hair looked ruffled, as if it had had a hand run through it several times in apprehension.

"Miss Crawley. Hello."

"Mr Branson," Edith smiled, as warmly as possible. "Won't you sit down?"

"No, thank you." He paced to the fireplace and back. "You know why I've come, I'm sure. God, how is she?"

"Exactly as you would expect." Edith watched him wearing out the carpet for a moment more, and then added, "She says you wrote to her?"

"Yes - but… when she wrote back I don't think she wanted to worry me. Added to which, she was too busy scolding me for…" He trailed off, looking somewhat bashful. "How is she, _honestly_?"

"They haven't broken her spirit, if that's what you're asking. My godfather - her doctor - seems to think that she'll recover, in body, anyway." She swallowed, and a question that had been plaguing her for days leapt up into her throat. Whatever Sybil had said, and whatever _she _had said to Sybil, there was still a part of her that was not entirely convinced that Mr Branson's discouragement of any further militant action couldn't be attributed to a sense of guilt, having egged Sybil on in the first place. "But if my brother-in-law thought for even a single _moment_ that you had encouraged her - urged her on in any way - "

"No!" His expression was one of deep, abiding horror as he screeched to a halt in front of the sofa where Edith sat. "God, _no_! I - I'm not saying that we didn't _talk_ about it, that we didn't go to meetings or - or whatever else, but… but Sybil has a mind of her own, and it was only a matter of time before she - " He stopped, looking for a moment quite demented. "If you think for a moment that I would ever encourage the woman I am in love with to get herself locked up and _tortured, _then - "

Gently, Edith reached up and rested a hand on his arm, guiding him into the seat next to her on the sofa. "No," she murmured, soft and contrite. "Of course not. I - I _do_ apologise. Wouldn't they let you visit her?"

He shook his head miserably. "Family only. We aren't - " He blushed. "If we're ever to get married, then… then I want to do it properly. Ask Sir Richard's permission."

"Good luck," Edith told him wryly. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if he wants to lock Sybil up like the princess in the tower after all this."

Mr Branson chuckled weakly. "Would you - would you consider keeping me informed? I'd appreciate it, if you could. And… give Sybil my love, my very best love."

"Of course." Edith hesitated. Mary was out. Richard was at the office. Mama had gone to visit Granny, with Aunt Rosamund. "Would you - would you like to come up? Just for a moment? See her yourself?"

He looked stunned, quite as if she had offered him a private audience with the King. "I - _could_ I? I - I wouldn't be getting either of you into trouble?"

Edith smiled dryly. "I think we can manage it without risk - if I stay as chaperone, of course. Wait here a moment?"

* * *

Upstairs, Edith poked her head around Sybil's doorway. "Sybil? He'd like to come up and see you, if you'll let him."

Sybil went furiously red. "I - I haven't brushed my hair in two days!" she protested. "And this is just about the oldest nightgown I own and - "

Edith laughed, absurdly glad that Mr Branson's visit had raised more petty concerns in Sybil. "Well, _I_ can brush your hair. And we'll sit you on the sofa, if you're up to it, and cover you with the nice eiderdown, and wrap the blue shawl around your shoulders. It _does_ bring out your eyes, you know…"

Fifteen minutes later, when Sybil had pronounced herself fit to be seen by her beau, Edith showed him in. He went straight to the side of the sofa, knelt, clutched Sybil's thin fingers in his own and kissed them fiercely. Edith, trying her best not to intrude, even as she sat down on the little stool in the corner of the room with her needlework, caught sight of the silvery glimmer of tears down his cheeks. "My God, darling girl, you had me worried there."

Sybil sniffed and dabbed at his wet cheeks with her shawl. "Idiot," she managed.

"But… you're all right?" Her fingers were still pressed against his lips, and the words came out more than a little muffled. "Getting better?"

Sybil nodded. "Nearly recovered enough to go back, in fact."

Tom's head shot up, as he fixed her with a stunned expression. "_Go back_? Why, in God's name?"

"Because I haven't finished my sentence," Sybil answered firmly. "It was only a temporary release, just to recover my health - "

"So you can go back and let those butchers of doctors ruin it again for you with impunity?" Mr Branson demanded hotly.

"I'm not going to quarrel with you about it," Sybil replied, quietly. "It isn't your decision to make, it's mine, and I've made it."

Mr Branson threw himself to his feet and paced angrily over the floor. For the first time, Sybil looked a little shaken. At length, he returned to the side of the sofa, and stood looking down at her. For one anxious moment, Edith thought that he was about to do something silly, like _forbid _her - and she did not need any sort of preternatural powers to predict how _that_ would go down - and then Mr Branson lowered himself shakily to his knees beside Sybil, and reached for her hair.

"Darling girl," he murmured, "I _know_ I can't tell you what to do. Even if I were your husband, I wouldn't have that right. But… please, _please… _reconsider. I know this is important to you - but it isn't worth risking your life over." His fingers stroked down her pale cheeks. "I want you alive to enjoy that vote you're going to win, you know. I want you alive to enjoy all sorts of things…" His voice dropped here, and, as if he had forgotten Edith's quiet presence in the corner, he leant up and kissed Sybil quickly at the corner of her mouth. "Please, think about it, hmm?"

Sybil nodded, the slightest of movements. "All right. But that's _all_ I'll promise - to think about it."

Tom rose to his feet and kissed the top of her head. "That's all I ask," he assured her.

Shaking himself, he looked at Edith. "Thank you, Miss Crawley. Now… I suppose I should be going, before I get you both into trouble."

Edith led him back downstairs, marvelling at how much headway Mr Branson had made with Sybil in just a few minutes. Richard had been badgering her about it every spare moment he had had since she had come home, and it had not, so far, done any good. And then in waltzed this Irishman with his nice smile and his roguish good looks and Sybil was ready to listen to his viewpoint as obediently as a lamb. Inwardly, she shook her head.

"Thank you," Mr Branson nodded to her, as he collected his hat and coat in the hallway. He turned away, but Edith called him back.

"Mr Branson?" She bit her lip. "When I wished you luck… with marrying Sybil… I _meant_ it."

He gave her a sheepish smile. "I think we'll both need all the luck we can get. Don't you?"

* * *

Richard looked in after work that evening, and found Edith and Sybil reading together in her room - a Sherlock Holmes, courtesy of Sir Anthony.

"Well, you're looking much brighter, I must say," he smiled, and Sybil returned the look.

"Thank you. Richard… I - " She blushed and stopped, glancing at Edith.

"Would you like me to leave, my dear?" Edith murmured, half-shutting the book on her finger.

"No, no." Sybil fiddled with the corner of her shawl for a moment before murmuring, "It's just… I've been thinking and… perhaps it would be best to be - to be bound over. If it can be managed."

Richard sank into the bedside chair, exhaling with such deep relief that Edith understood, perhaps for the first time, exactly how much strain he himself had been under. "_Thank you_," he murmured fervently, squeezing Sybil's hand. "I'll have it all arranged. Speak to the best solicitor." He jumped up to his feet. "Your mother will be so pleased. You're making the right decision."

Once the door had shut behind him, Sybil gave Edith another of those looks. "You must despise me," Sybil whispered eventually.

"_Despise you_? Darling, no - "

"Making Richard so sick with worry, and trying to convince me to be bound over, all these weeks - and then agreeing as soon as Tom asked me."

Edith shook her head. "No. Perhaps… perhaps he was just the straw that broke the camel's back. Whatever the reason, I'm terribly glad that you've agreed. It will be such a weight off Mama's mind, I know."

"It… it wasn't just Tom, though. I want you to know that. I… now that I'm getting better, I - I see how utterly exhausted you've been with looking after me, darling, and…" Sybil shot her a wry look. "Well, not to get up on my soapbox, but… it isn't any sort of feminism if I'm driving my own sister's health into a ditch to achieve it, is it?"

* * *

Drumming his fingers on the desk in front of him, Richard waited for his call to be connected. A click, as the person on the other end of the telephone picked up. "Grantham?" Richard asked.

"Hello, who is this?" Clearly, then, his butler had not told him the identity of his late-night caller.

"Carlisle. Sir Richard Carlisle."

"Oh. To - to what do I owe the pleasure, Sir Richard?" The Earl sounded startled - not surprisingly. They'd never been what one might call bosom chums, after all, but… well, this was different. This was…

"It's Sybil."

There was an exhalation down the telephone. "Oh. Sybil? Not bad news, I hope?"

"No, no. Good news, in fact. She's agreed to be bound over. What I want to know is… is whether this will make any difference to her case, as it stands. Whether, now that she's agreed, she'll have to serve the rest of her sentence or not. I thought… well, damn it, Grantham - you used to be a solicitor. You must know people who can help."

"Yes, of course," Matthew replied quietly. "I'll look into it at once. Might I telephone you back in, say, half an hour?"

Richard blinked. "Oh. I - well, that would be very good of you, if you could."

"Of course." More warmly, Matthew added, "You know I would do anything for Sybil - or for her sisters. I'm - I'm glad that you telephoned me."

* * *

"Oh, _however_ did you manage it?" squeaked Mary when Richard broke the good news.

He shrugged. "_I_ didn't. I… telephoned Lord Grantham. He managed it all."

"You telephoned _Matthew_? Even though…" Mary blushed. "That was… rather big of you."

"Some things are too big and important to let petty grudges get in the way," Richard admitted quietly.

Softly, Mary went to him and kissed his cheek, all the bitterness and spite and quarrels of the last few weeks quite forgotten. "Thank you. I - I appreciate it."

* * *

"Matthew?" Her voice was soft and apologetic.

"Hello, Mary."

"Richard told me what you managed to do for Sybil." There was silence for a moment, and then she managed, "Thank you."

"It was nothing."

"It was the very _opposite_ of nothing!" Mary protested.

"Her brother-in-law owns one of the biggest newspapers in England and her cousin has an earldom." Matthew sighed. "If she'd agreed to be bound over in the first place, they wouldn't have pursued any of this. And now that she _has_ agreed… well, the government are taking the view that one fewer locked up suffragette making a martyr of herself for the Cause can only be a good thing. So you see, I really did nothing."

"You spoke on her behalf," Mary reminded him.

"Your husband asked me to." Sheepishly, he added, "And you didn't _really_ think I'd turn my back on _Sybil_, did you?"

"No," Mary whispered. "You're far too good for that. I - will you telephone me, when you're next in London?"

"What purpose would that serve?"

"Matthew… I know I was a beast but… I… I care about you. I want - I want to see you. I…" She bit her lip. "Are you really going to make me beg?"

"No. I'm… I'm sorry for what I said. I was cross. But… you're in a damnable position. _I'm_ in a damnable position. All we can do is… push through it, I suppose."

"Together?" Mary wondered.

She could sense the smile in Matthew's voice when he replied. "Together."


	49. Home At Last

"Sybil?"

Sybil sat up further in bed and gave Edith a sleepy smile, setting aside _Barchester Towers_. The paperwork had come through that morning, confirming that Miss Sybil Crawley had been formally released from prison, on condition of her binding herself over to not take part in any militant suffrage actions for the next twelve months. The whole household, as a consequence, was breathing a deep sigh of relief - and Edith was beginning to make plans. "Hello."

"I'm not disturbing you?" Edith checked.

Sybil shook her head. "Not at all. I'm feeling _so_ much better."

Edith perched on the edge of her bed and reached over to stroke a curl of dark hair out of Sybil's eyes. "I'm glad, my dear. We've been so worried."

Sybil bit her lip. "I'm sorry."

"I wasn't _asking_ for an apology, darling." Edith stroked her sister's thin cheek. "I know why you did it, and… I admire your principles, truly I do. But…"

"But now that I'm recovering, and there's no chance of my going back to prison… you'd like to get back to Locksley as soon as possible," Sybil finished for her, smiling slightly.

"How did you know that?" Edith wondered. "I haven't even mentioned it to Mama yet!"

"You've got that bright look in your eyes. The one you always get when you mention Sir Anthony," Sybil told her matter-of-factly. A smirk appeared on her face, giving her almost a look of the old Sybil. "Added to which, I heard Mary and Richard talking about it this morning."

"Talking or fighting?" Edith sighed, and the girls raised their eyebrows in unison.

"Poor Richard. He can't seem to do _anything_ right just now." Sybil traced the white embroideries on the eiderdown for a moment and then said, brightening, "Well, at least you'll be happy to go back to Yorkshire." She hesitated. "You like him, don't you? Sir Anthony?"

"Yes," Edith blushed. "Yes, I like him. He's very clever and amusing - and he's been so… so _generous_ to me, Sybil."

"He wrote me such a kind letter, when he sent me those books," Sybil agreed. "And he seems to think so highly of _you_. Not that _that's_ surprising, of course." Her grin deepened, becoming almost wicked. "You know, from what I remembered last Christmas, I _thought_ he was _frightfully_ good-looking - and when I saw him at dinner the other evening, I knew I was right."

"_Sybil_!" Edith squeaked, pressing her hands to her suddenly red cheeks.

Sybil laughed a little croakily. "Oh, darling - don't say you haven't noticed! Those broad shoulders - and those _eyes -_ !" She squirmed her shoulders delightedly. "Positively _yummy_."

"Prison," her older sister replied severely, "has made you coarse."

"It isn't coarseness," Sybil replied primly. "It's the plain truth. Although - perhaps don't mention it to Tom." Her voice softened. "He could make you happy, I think, and I'd like that. I'd like to know you were loved, and well-cared for."

"Let's leave the matchmaking to Mama and Granny, hmm?" Edith suggested and kissed Sybil's forehead. "Try to get some more rest, yes? I'll pop my head around the door again tomorrow morning, before I go for my train."

Sir Anthony was _polite_, that was all, she thought, shaking her head as she marched back downstairs. Polite and kind and compassionate. True enough, he called her 'my dear' more often than not, these days - 'Mrs Crawley' only really in company - but that was only because he was a naturally affectionate person. A considerate, decent, _gentle_ man who was built for a large family - a loving wife and a dozen tow-headed little ones. A single son, and a mother and sister both living miles away just weren't enough to take up all the love that a man like that was capable of giving, that was all. If he ever _did_ remarry, the new Lady Strallan would be a very fortunate woman. No wife of Sir Anthony Strallan's would ever suffer neglect or cruelty at her husband's hands.

She would be the happiest and luckiest of women.

Sometimes of late, before she had left for London, it had seemed that the lines between them were becoming blurred. The way he would read things out to her from _The Times_, criticising the lowering of journalistic standards or something idiotic that one politician or another had said - that was not the way a man spoke to his secretary. The way she had caught herself shooting him little amused glances over Pip's head at teatime, when the boy had said something funny - that was not the way said secretary behaved towards her employer. The way Mrs Cox had started to bring the menus to her desk rather than to Sir Anthony's, or the way they sometimes sat together in the library in the evenings after Pip had gone to bed… it was all starting to look and feel frightfully, well, _marital_.

And then there had been that - that moment in the library on the night of the concert, when there had been a strange _frisson_ in the air between them, when his fingertips had brushed her cheek, and everything about him had said that he had wanted to kiss her… Her belly ached suddenly -sharp and sweet - and she could feel herself blushing at the thought of it.

That same look had been in his eyes that day he had come to London and taken her to Hyde Park - although more muted, reined in and under control. And when he had come to dinner - when he had adjured her to look after herself - when he had looked as if he very much wished to do the job himself -

She shook herself firmly. Was she just being foolish? Seeing what she wanted to see? Letting her feelings get the better of her, and trick her into believing in something that was not there?

* * *

Richard saw her onto the train at Kings' Cross the next morning. "You're looking brighter already," he sighed, as they stood together on the platform. "You've been working yourself into exhaustion, haven't you?"

"Nonsense," Edith said briskly, avoiding his eyes. She didn't want to make Richard feel any guiltier or more responsible than he already did. "I was glad to be helpful. And if I'm needed again, just telephone."

"Oh, yes, and have Sir Anthony Strallan racing down to London to tell me what a brute I'm being?" Richard wondered dryly. "Thank you, but I'd rather not."

"Whatever is that supposed to mean?" Edith let out a light, breathy laugh.

"Only that your employer takes an uncommon interest in your wellbeing, my dear, and that after that dinner, I got an awful feeling that he wanted to thrash me, for some reason."

"Ridiculous," Edith replied. "He's far too mild-mannered. And, anyway, we aren't - we don't - " She took a breath and settled, safely, on: "He isn't like that. He's… kind, that's all."

The station-master blew his whistle, and Richard helped her aboard. "Travel safely. And… get some rest, won't you?" He winked - he _actually winked, _damn him! - at her. "But I'm sure Sir Anthony will see to that."

Edith spent the journey trying and failing to concentrate on her book. When she had given up on that, she tried to knit, but her mind couldn't seem to focus on the pattern, and after three dropped stitches and a cable which twisted in precisely the opposite way to that which it had been intended, she thrust the wool and needles back into her bag with a huff of frustrated crossness and sank back into her seat, determined not to think at _all_ about Anthony Strallan for the rest of her journey.

* * *

He was there to meet her on the platform, at least a head taller than everyone else, and searching for her with those bright blue eyes of which Sybil had so approved. She had hoped for it, and at the same time had feared it too, and she was somewhat shy as she came forward to greet him.

"Hello, my dear." He smiled and received her bag from her hand, just as he had done all those months ago when she had first come here and he had collected her. "Welcome home."

"Hello, sir." A warmth had sunk into her bones at that simple greeting - redolent as it was of security, and safety and kindness. Her hand, seemingly of its own volition, slid into the crook of his elbow as they turned towards the station exit.

"Terribly glad you're back, my dear," he murmured, matter-of-factly. "Everything has rather gone to pieces without you."

Edith chuckled. "Wonderful. Exactly _how_ many feet of paperwork am I going to have to dig through to get to my desk, sir?"

"Oh, five at least - gusting to six in some parts." He opened the car door for her, ever the consummate gentleman, and shut it after her. "How is Sybil?" he asked, as he started the car.

"Well, we hope we've seen the last of her militancy, now that she's agreed to be bound over," Edith smiled wanly. "I still can't quite believe it, to be perfectly honest." She shook her head. "This damnable Cat and Mouse Act… and yet, so much better than the force-feeding. I think I could endure anything rather than thinking of her having to go through that even once more."

"Of course. And your family? How are they taking it all?"

Edith rolled her eyes. "Mama wants to whisk Sybil off to America, as soon as she's fully recovered. To get her away from the 'unwholesome society' she's been indulging in in London, and visit our grandmother."

"Ah." He shared a dry look with Edith. "I see. And… how's that going over?"

"Sybil's fighting tooth and nail against it, of course." Edith shook her head. "Did I ever tell you she's… formed an attachment to one of Richard's journalists? Tom Branson?"

"Branson, Branson…" He frowned in concentration for a moment, and then asked, "The political correspondent?"

"Mmm, yes."

"Yes, I've read some of his pieces. He used to free-lance quite a bit, didn't he, before he became permanent on your brother-in-law's staff?" Sounding rather impressed, he added, "He's terribly clever, from what I've read."

"It sounds as if you know more about him than I do, sir," Edith smiled, marvelling that a member of the landed gentry could ever consider a Irish socialist journalist anything other than thoroughly iniquitous. "But he _is_ passionate about politics. Socialism and suffrage - everything calculated to appeal to Sybil." Aware that she was sounding half-bitter, Edith amended, "But… it isn't an act, you understand - he's quite, _quite_ genuine - which of course, makes him all the more attractive." A moment's half-embarrassed silence, and then Edith expanded, "To - to _Sybil_, of course. Not - not to anyone else."

They shared a shy smile, and then Sir Anthony asked, "Is there any chance of him proposing, do you think?"

"I don't see why not." Edith shook her head. "Ironically, I think it's the best thing he _could_ do. My grandmother has taken the line that a criminal record will have removed Sybil very firmly from the lists of London's matchmaking mamas, so I imagine if she _did_ manage to get an offer - even one from an Irish radical journalist - Granny would faint with shock." She shot him a wry look. "Lord only knows what she'd say if she knew about my turning down Mr Pelham. I swore Mama to secrecy."

"'Good riddance', perhaps?" he chanced, and was pleased when Edith made no reply other than to shake her head and purse her lips a little, as if she were hiding a smile.

Locksley was warm and cosy, and everyone was so strangely delighted to see her. "Now, Master Pip, you'll knock Mrs Crawley over if you carry on like that," Mrs Dale scolded fondly, as Pip embraced her tightly, Edith's hand buried in his hair. "Mrs Cox is already getting dinner ready, my dear, and if I were you, I should have it in bed tonight - or at the very least on a tray in the library." Her weathered, warm hand cupped Edith's cheek fondly as she peered up at her, still talking. "You look quite done in, my lamb. Yes, a nice big helping of Mrs Cox's cottage pie, and then straight to bed with you."

"Al-alright," Edith agreed, earning herself an anxious look from Sir Anthony. "What is it?" she wondered, faltering a little, and he shook his head.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, my dear, but I think I've just heard you agree without a quarrel to a suggestion of your resting quietly somewhere. I can only conclude that you must be on the very verge of collapse."

Edith chuckled dryly. "Very funny, sir. I _could_ do with a sit down, though, now you mention it."

Mrs Dale nodded. "Yes, let's not keep you hovering on your own front doorstep! You go and sit down, my lamb, and rest yourself after your journey."

Sir Anthony took her through to the library himself, his hand a broad, warm presence hovering over the small of her back, Pip's hand clutching tightly at her own, as though he were afraid that if he let go, she would vanish into thin air again. "Pip, fetch that blanket, will you?" he asked over his shoulder as he settled her into the sofa, and bent to stoke the fire. Edith glanced over at her desk, and the piles of paper that awaited her there, and her eyes widened in alarm. Sir Anthony caught the look, and shot her a severe one of his own as he rose from the hearth. "Don't even _think_ about it," he warned her. "You're to spend the rest of the day at least with your feet up, _resting_."

Edith gave him a helpless smile as Pip spread the blanket over her. "Shall I fetch you a cup of tea, Mrs C.?" he wondered.

"That would be heavenly, my dear, thank you." As Pip clattered away down the passage, she pressed, "Are you _sure_ there isn't anything I can be doing, sir? I feel… awful, going away for so many weeks, and then wasting time now that I'm home."

"Well, you're only following your employer's orders," Sir Anthony pointed out. "And I've heard he can be something of a tyrant when disobeyed, so I wouldn't even attempt it." He clapped his hands together briskly, as if suddenly embarrassed to have been left alone with her. "Now, I'll go and see where that tea's got to." He winked conspiratorially. "Just can't seem to get the staff these days, can one?"

Edith blushed. "He's not a tyrant at all," she whispered, a little sadly, at his retreating back. "He's a very, _very_ nice man."

* * *

Edith was kept on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon, with Pip and Sir Anthony to entertain her. Pip did his prep at his father's desk, whizzing through his Mathematics, and grumbling soundly through a passage of Cicero for his Latin master, while Edith and Sir Anthony played a game of chess and talked quietly, about nothing in particular. To Edith, coming as it did after the bustle and panic and tension of the past months, this simply scene of dull domesticity - one played out, she was sure, in thousands of homes all over England every day - was utterly blissful.

At around six o'clock, Mrs Cox brought dinner through for them all, on trays - Edith's portion of pie and heap of roasted vegetables being the largest. "Mrs Dale and I thought you and Master Pip would probably like to keep Mrs Crawley company, sir," she twinkled.

"Quite right, Mrs Cox." Sir Anthony looked closely at Edith. "Dinner, my dear, and then an early night for you, I think - if I'm not being terribly tyrannical." His eyes sparked fun. Edith returned the expression.

"Yes, all right. Thank you, Mrs Cox - this looks… _wonderful_."

"We've got to feed you up now, my dear," she shook her head, and made for the door. "And there's stewed plums and custard for afters - which _none_ of you will be getting unless you clear your plates."

"Come along, Pip," Sir Anthony winked. "Better do as we're told, I think. Don't you agree, Mrs Crawley?"

By the time she had finished her pie, and a large helping of Mrs Cox's stewed plums, Edith felt she would burst if she ate another mouthful. Mrs Cox cleared the trays, and nodded approvingly at Edith's empty plates. "You'll eat a good breakfast tomorrow, my girl, and a hearty lunch, and then dinner on a tray again."

"Oh, Mrs Cox, I - "

"No arguments, my girl - you look as if you'd blow away in the next strong wind! Now, I'll bring you in a mug of cocoa, and then up the wooden hill with you."

The cocoa was hot and delicious - and from the taste, Edith suspected Mrs Cox of having adulterated it with a tot of brandy for extra warmth. The gramophone was humming something soft and sweet in the background, and Pip, curled up by the fire at Edith's feet, was resting his head against her knee. Sir Anthony touched her arm gently, and Edith realised that she had been dropping off. She gave him a bleary smile, which he returned. "Off to bed, I think, my dear."

As Edith got to her feet, she swayed. Sir Anthony got an arm around her waist just before she stumbled. "Steady!" He bent his head to look into her face. "I say, are you all right, my dear?"

"Mmm… yes," she blinked dazedly up at him. "Stood up too quickly, I think."

He frowned anxiously down at her. "I don't think you ought to be climbing stairs. Please, allow me."

She blushed. "I'm far too heavy - "

"You're as light as a feather, my dear." He gave her a faint smile. "I promise I won't stumble and drop you."

And so, for the second time in her life, Edith found herself being carried up Locksley's main staircase by her employer. His arms were strong around her, and his hands polite. He smelt frightfully good from this angle, too, warm and masculine, the slight, spicy fragrance of his cologne mixing with the faint, comforting fug of pipe tobacco and paper. Guiltily, Edith realised that she was enjoying it, being held by him, being _carried_ by him.

Mrs Dale bustled along beside them, and when Sir Anthony had deposited her, frightfully gently, on the bed, the housekeeper stepped forwards and shooed him out and began to unbutton Edith's dress with brisk, kind fingers. "I can manage - "

"You look about to fall asleep, my dear," Mrs Dale tutted. "And you _have_ got thinner, too, Mrs Cox was right - you didn't used to lace this so small. Can you unhook it?" Edith nodded obediently and undid the front hooks to her corset. Combinations and stockings _off_ \- a nightgown that Mrs Dale had had warming by the fire _on_ \- and then the eiderdown tucked firmly around her.

Mrs Dale kissed her hair. "Goodnight, my lamb. God bless." At the door, she turned, and even in the half-light (and through eyes alarmingly blurred with sudden, glad tears) Edith could see that she was smiling broadly. "It _is_ good to have you home safe."

* * *

Edith rose late the next morning - late enough that Sir Anthony had already left to take Master Pip to school - and crept down to the warmth of the kitchen just before ten o'clock.

Mrs Cox looked up from where she was already chopping vegetables for a lunchtime stew, and smiled broadly. "Ah, here she is. Sit you down there, my girl," she nodded at the fireside chair, "and I'll fetch you your breakfast."

"Oh," Edith protested faintly. "I'm sure you're frightfully busy, Mrs Cox - I can just make myself some tea and toast - "

"Nonsense," Mrs Cox interrupted. "If you think I'm letting you near my range, my girl, think on. Besides, it won't take me a moment to put an egg or two on - and the pan's still hot for bacon." She narrowed her eyes at Edith. "And some bread and dripping, too, I think. Mrs Dale agrees that you've gone all thin." Wryly, she added, "I thought it was your sister gone on the hunger strike, not you."

Edith chuckled and let the warmth of the fire and Mrs Cox's comforting chit-chat and bustle sooth her somewhat frazzled nerves. (_"You know Mrs Nicholls is expecting again. That'll be_ three_ little ones to get under her feet_," "_Honestly, I don't know _what_ your sister's cook thinks she's been feeding you on!", "Back door bell - that'll be the post-boy. Gets later and later every morning…")._ She seemed to be feeling it much more than she had been before she had come home. Perhaps now that the stress and chaos of Sybil's trouble was over, Edith was having time to consider her own feelings for the first time in several months. No wonder everything felt as if it were beginning to crash down on her.

A large cup of tea was shoved under her nose. "There, nice and strong - and a bit of sugar for your nerves, too," Mrs Cox nodded approvingly. "Now, don't let it get cold."

In the end, Edith was forced to eat her way through a large plate of bacon and three fried eggs, and several slices of bread soaked in the fat from the frying pan. By the time she had finished, and washed it all down with another cup of tea, Sir Anthony had returned and searched her out.

"Well, you're looking _much_ brighter, my dear, I must say," he smiled. "Been looking after her, Mrs Cox?"

"Of course, sir. Just as ordered - not that _that_ was needed."

Edith shot a startled glance at her suddenly bashful employer, and stood up. "Well, thank you very much, Mrs Cox. And now I ought to be getting on with my paperwork." She smirked at Sir Anthony as she slipped past him into the passage. "All five feet of it."

The desk, however, was not as bad as she had feared it would be. Someone - she suspected Mr Stewart's neatening hand - had filed everything into separate piles: house, accounts and estate; and she sat down at her desk with more of a sense of purpose than she had had for several weeks.

* * *

"So Miss Crawley is back at Locksley, I hear," Ginny said, taking a sip of tea through pursed lips. "It seems as if she's been away for an _age_."

"Yes," agreed Isobel, in a somewhat non-committal tone of voice. "I'm sure Sir Anthony is very glad to have her back - as are Matthew and Lavinia and I, of course."

"It must have been so awful for you all - to have had a relative," (Ginny lowered her voice, obviously relishing what was about to come next), "_in prison._"

Isobel tutted. "My dear, I sometimes think that if I were twenty years' younger, I should be chaining myself to railings right next to Sybil."

Ginny sat back, suddenly quelled. "And what about poor Mr Pelham?" she changed the subject. "I hear that he's quite given up all thought of Miss Crawley."

"The way I understand it," Isobel replied, "it's more that _Edith_ has given up all thought of _him._"

"Really? I wonder why." Ginny frowned a little. "_Such_ a nice boy, don't you think? Perhaps someone ought to encourage him to have another go. And - you'll forgive me, Isobel - but… you must admit that she may find it difficult to find anyone _else_ to take her on, now that there's been… well, not a _scandal_, precisely… but… well, you know what I mean."

Isobel bit her lip. She hated to admit it, but perhaps Ginny was right - as brutal as it sounded. And she hated the thought of Edith - so sweet and fitted for family life - left alone, merely because the men of her class and generation all seemed so thoroughly squeamish. Perhaps she'd speak to Mr Pelham.

"Well," she conceded at last, "perhaps a small nudge in the right direction mightn't hurt."


	50. Sybil and Tom

"While we're in America," Mama smiled, "you'll have time to get properly better, and forget all this militant nonsense, darling." Her smile deepened. "Maybe you'll even find a nice young man and - "

"No!" Sybil interrupted, horrified. This same conversation had been repeated at length, over several days now, only getting worse now that Edith - the neutral buffer zone of sorts - had returned to Locksley. "I don't want to go to America, and I _certainly_ don't want to find a nice young man!"

Mama laughed, light and patronising. "Oh, that's what all you young girls say. You'll realise eventually that you're ready to settle down, have a husband and a house to run and a family to take care of. You can't spend your life alone, Sybil - how would you manage?"

"Maybe I'll get a job, like Edith."

Her mother stroked her hair. "Even Edith will settle down eventually, darling. It wouldn't surprise me if she'd got her eye on Sir Anthony, no matter how coy she chooses to be about it to us. No woman _wants_ to work all her life, darling. And much as I hate to admit it, Granny's right when she says that young men over here might be a little… skittish about you for a while."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "I don't care. _You_ married for love, Mama. Why can't I do the same?"

"No one's saying you can't, my darling, but even _I_ was guided by people who cared about me, who were older and wiser - "

Sybil turned away. "That's ridiculous! You broke your engagement to an earl because you fell in love with Papa!"

"And sometimes, over the last few years, there have been times when I wished I hadn't!" her mother snapped suddenly.

Sybil turned wide, shocked eyes on her. "Yes, I loved your father," Mama exhaled. "I was _very_ happy with him. But that doesn't mean that I haven't sometimes wished that I had made the sensible choice, the _secure_ choice." Her voice softened. "Love is all very well, Sybil, but it doesn't put a roof over your head or money in your purse - and you can't eat happiness, my darling. When you've had time to think about it - once we're in New York… well, you'll realise that I was right. In twenty years' time, you'll thank me." She pressed a fierce kiss to Sybil's hair. "I promise."

* * *

"Tom?"

"Hello, my darling girl. How are you?"

Sybil felt herself relax as Tom's warm Irish brogue washed over her. "Mama's being _impossible_. She won't accept that I don't want to go to America with her. I don't think she'll ever listen."

Tom exhaled noisily. "God, I wish I were in more of a position to - to be able to talk to your brother-in-law."

"I know." Sybil swallowed. "The thing is, darling, I think… we may have to bypass that, just a little."

"Bypass it… how?" Tom wondered, an edge of nervousness in his voice.

"I think… I think to be absolutely sure that they can't separate us… we should get married now, with or without their permission."

"You're not twenty-one yet."

"That's only the law in England." Sybil's voice shook a little. "Not in - in Scotland. One of us has to have been there for twenty-one days but - "

"You've been reading up on this?" Tom asked in amazement.

"Blessing of being a solicitor's daughter," Sybil answered briskly. "But if you went to Scotland first, and then… and then I followed you… we could manage it." There was a little pause. "Well? What do you think?"

"I _think_ that I don't want you travelling the length of the country on your own! Not after you've been so ill."

"Well, if we go together, anything could happen! We could be followed, caught… Tom, darling Tom, I…" Her voice broke, and he heard a soft sob on the other end of the line.

"All right. All right." He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think. "All right," he repeated. "I think… I may have a solution. I've a friend and his wife, who live in Edinburgh. If we went together, I think they'd let us stay with them, until we could be married. Less obvious than Gretna Green, isn't it? Easier to hide?"

"Yes." Sybil laughed a little shakily. "Well, then. That's settled. When?"

"I'll have to make the arrangements first. Let's say… this Friday evening? Can you hold your mama off till then, d'you think?"

Sybil felt herself beginning to smile. "She'll have to tie me up and carry me out bodily."

* * *

"Oh, Mr Pelham! Could I have a word?"

Bertie stumbled up out of his chair. It was rare to see the Dowager Countess of Grantham in the estate office, after all. "Of course, Lady Grantham. Is something wrong?"

"Not at all, dear boy," Isobel smiled, motioning him back into his chair. "I only wondered… well, are you quite happy? You've seemed so very downcast just recently and I wondered whether… whether there was anything that could be done to help you, as it were."

"Oh. No." He forced a smile. "I don't think so."

"Is it Edith?"

Bertie let out an awkward sigh of laughter at her perspicacity. "Yes, I suppose it is."

"Only, I was talking to Lady Fyfe the other day, and we were thinking how awful it was that two such nice people had drifted apart so. Is there anything I could say to her? To persuade her to reconsider refusing you? I might have some influence, you know - and I think you could be happy together."

"Yes, I - I do think you could be right." He fiddled anxiously with a pencil on his desk. "But… it wasn't Edith's fault. It was my own foolishness, Lady Grantham." He'd been a prig and an idiot, and what was worse was the way that Edith had accepted his decision so quietly, so meekly, almost as if she had expected such awful treatment. It made him go hot with shame whenever he thought about it.

"Then in that case, my dear - the remedy must be yours, too." Isobel's voice was still gentle, but there was a touch of steel there too with which Bertie thought few men would have the courage to argue. "If you care for her so much, why not ask again, hmm? Apologise? Edith's a kind soul - she doesn't hold grudges. And after all this trouble with her sister, she might be more than glad of some happiness and joy in her life."

"You really think I stand a chance?" he murmured, half-disbelieving.

"_Yes_. You got along so nicely, when you were courting, before. It would make all of her family so happy, too, I know. You'd have no obstacle there, I'm sure."

* * *

"Mary? May I come in? I've - " Richard stopped in the doorway of her bedroom. Mary was already dressed for an evening out. "Oh. Are you… going somewhere?"

She didn't even look up from the mirror. "Yes. Lucy Williams telephoned - her cousin's ill so she has a spare ticket for the theatre. I said I'd be delighted."

"This is all very sudden. I thought… we could have dinner together. Your mother's out with your aunt tonight and Sybil's already asleep, I think. Her light's off, anyway - "

"Well, I've made other plans." Mary's lips pursed as she dabbed perfume on to her neck. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't just sit at home waiting to see whether you're going to turn up to dinner, you know. Not even on a Friday."

"I didn't say I thought you did."

Mary sighed. "I shan't be back very late. I'll telephone if it looks likely."

"You _could_ cancel." He took another hesitant step into the room. "Or… I could come along with you. I'm sure I could badger someone into giving me a last-minute ticket - "

"You wouldn't enjoy it, Richard," Mary interrupted. "And I can't cancel on Lucy."

"What are you going to see?"

Mary fastened the catch of her necklace and stood up, brushing out her skirt. "Does it matter? You hate the theatre." Approaching the door, she stopped, and lifted her eyebrows; belatedly, Richard realised she was waiting for him to step out of her way.

"Have a good evening, then, I suppose. I might… go back to the office, now that you're going out. I'll tell Henderson to lock up once you're home. I'll let myself in."

"Yes. All right. Whatever you like. Goodnight."

"Yes. Goodnight, Mary."

She swept past him, and he heard her footsteps on the stairs, and then her soft voice bidding Henderson goodnight as he opened the door for her. Richard took another step into his wife's bedroom, sank down onto the end of the bed, and buried his face tiredly in his hands.

* * *

"You could stay the night, you know," Matthew murmured, pressing soft kisses into her back, just above the unlaced corset. His arms twined around her, trying to pull her back against his chest. In the sitting room of his London flat, the mantlepiece clock was just chiming midnight. _Like Cinderella,_ Mary thought sardonically, wriggling herself free.

"No. I _really_ can't." Her voice was brisk. "What if Richard came back early? What excuse would I give him?" As she spoke, she rolled her stockings back up her legs, tutting at a ladder in one of them - a casualty of Matthew's eager fingers. Lord only knew how she would explain _that_ to Smith. "Now, be a darling, and lace me up, would you?" She wished now that she'd just unhooked the wretched corset at the front, but Matthew took an odd sort of enjoyment in untying her at the back instead._ So impractical! Not like Richard at all._ Vaguely, she wondered if he ever did the same thing with his wife.

Matthew sighed, but did as she asked. "I _hate_ this," he grumbled fiercely. "Sneaking around behind people's backs - "

"Oh, _don't_ start complaining again, Matthew," Mary huffed. "What's the alternative? I wouldn't have any cause to divorce Richard, and as for any hope that Lavinia would ever want or be able to divorce _you - _the very idea of it is ridiculous. Besides… I'm not sure I'd want a divorce, even if it _were_ possible."

Matthew lifted his head. "Really? We could weather a scandal, you know."

"That isn't why," Mary shook her head. "I - whatever I feel for you, I _care_ about Richard. Oh, I know you think he's an awful, mercenary brute, but he _isn't_. He can be… soft and gentle, when he wants to be, and he loves me. You assumed I married him for security, and… yes, that was part of it, but not _all_ of it." She shrugged uncomfortably. "Well? Don't _you_ love Lavinia?"

Matthew sat back. "I…" He stopped. "She's a very nice person," he answered at last. "And she cares about me, very much. But… she isn't you. She just isn't you."

* * *

"My dear?" Anthony blinked as he peered around the library door. A single lamp was still on and Edith sat in the armchair next to it, what looked like a pile of fabric in her hands. "It's very late - what are you doing still up?"

Edith gave him a sheepish smile and held up her burden, revealing it to be some sewing. "I noticed Pip had torn a button off his coat. Just repairing it."

"That isn't your job." He sidled further into the room. "Ask Stewart or Mrs Dale - "

"It's all right. I… wanted to. They're both far too busy. I don't mind, honestly. Look, all done." So speaking, she snipped off the thread and shook out the coat. "I'll just pop my head around his door on my way up and hang it in the wardrobe for him."

Sir Anthony smiled softly. "You're going to make a wonderful mother one day, you know."

Edith returned the smile, a little sadly. "Oh, I don't know. I've… rather given up on the idea, I think. But… at least Pip shows me what that might have been like." Suddenly, she turned her eyes fully up to his face. "You're awfully lucky, sir."

"Edith - " he began - and then they heard a tremendous hammering at the front door. "What the devil?" he frowned, and they moved as one towards the hall, emerging from the library passage just as Stewart opened the door.

"_Sybil_?" gaped Edith. And then: "_Mr Branson_? What on _Earth_ \- "

"Edith, please," Sybil began, pushing a bedraggled lock of hair out of her eyes, "you have to help us."

"Help you to do _what_, exactly?"

"Just… beds for the night." Sybil caught her hand. "Please?"

"Not until you tell me _exactly_ what is going on here!"

Sybil and Tom exchanged glances, and then Tom nodded. Sybil straightened her shoulders. "Tom and I… have eloped."


	51. Solution

"Your mother will be very worried," Sir Anthony murmured to Sybil. They were all gathered in the library with a pot of tea. After the shock of Sybil and Mr Branson's arrival, Sir Anthony had taken complete charge, ushering everyone out of the hall and asking Stewart to send up refreshments for their surprise guests. The whole story had come pouring out, then - their reasons for eloping, the train that had broken down, depositing them at York, their inability to find rooms anywhere at such a late hour, and their eventual decision to press on to Locksley in a hired cab. Now, Sir Anthony was engaged in a battle of wills with a rather recalcitrant Sybil.

"If I go back," Sybil whispered fiercely, "she'll drag me off to America and have me married off before you can click your fingers!"

Sir Anthony sat down opposite her. "My dear, she cannot force you to do anything against your will. But if your intent is to make her acknowledge that you are almost a woman grown, then I think that you will not be helped by a mad escapade like this." He looked up at Tom. "I'm surprised that you allowed yourself to be persuaded into this, Mr Branson."

To Edith's surprise, Tom blushed and looked away. Sir Anthony returned his attention to Sybil. "And don't you see what a difficult position you're putting your sister in, too? What you're asking her to risk for you?"

Sybil cast her eyes suddenly downwards, more cowed by Sir Anthony's gentle disappointment than she would have been by any amount of loud scolding.

"I shall make you a bargain," Sir Anthony continued. "If you allow me to telephone your brother-in-law, and explain where you are, then when he arrives, I will speak to him on your and Mr Branson's behalf. Agreed?"

Tom squeezed Sybil's shoulder and they exchanged a quick, speaking glance. Sybil nodded. "A-alright. Thank you."

"Not at all. Mrs Crawley, why don't you take your sister up to the room next to yours, and she can have a lie-down? Mrs Dale's arranged everything. Mr Branson, would you care for a nightcap?"

Inwardly, Edith smiled. Well, that had all been very smoothly arranged, hadn't it? Making it very clear to all concerned parties that there would be absolutely no 'funny business' of any sort under Locksley's roof. "Yes," Mr Branson agreed, and then looked hesitantly at Sybil. "Well, good night, darling girl."

Edith touched Sir Anthony's arm, very gently. "I'll let you say 'good night', Sybil," Edith smiled at her sister. "I'll be outside when you're ready."

Together, she and Sir Anthony went out. As the door closed behind them, Edith let out a long sigh. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. I imagine you're regretting ever hiring me, the scrapes I've involved you in this year alone." She bit her lip. "We're a very difficult family all round, you see."

"Nonsense, my dear." Sir Anthony's expression was kind. "She's young, and frightened that she'll be parted from the man she loves. But she's brave, just like her older sister - I can see that. Now, what's your brother-in-law's telephone number?"

"Belgravia 246. Oh, he's going to be frightfully cross…"

He squeezed her arm reassuringly. "Don't fret. I'll handle everything. You take Miss Sybil up, and get a good night's sleep, both of you."

Edith let out a tired chuckle. "'Everything will look brighter in the morning'? That's what Mama always says."

"And she's very right, my dear."

The library door creaked open and Sybil emerged; neither Edith nor Anthony commented on the fact that her hair looked slightly more mussed, and her lips slightly more swollen, than they had done five minutes earlier. "Goodnight," Sir Anthony smiled cheerfully, and then, in a lowered voice, added to Edith, "And remember what I said."

* * *

When Edith woke the next morning, it was to Sybil knocking at the door, an anxious expression on her face. "May I come in?"

Edith nodded, sitting up and peeling back the eiderdown so that Sybil could climb in with her, just as she had done when they had been children. Really, it was too cold, even with the fire, to be out of bed in just nightclothes for too long. "I suppose you think I'm very silly," Sybil murmured after a while.

"I - I don't know what to think," Edith replied honestly. "But you _did_ promise me you were going to be sensible."

"I know," Sybil agreed guiltily. "But I love him. And I was _so_ frightened - "

"I know." Thinking briefly of Michael, Edith added, "And we can do very stupid things, when we believe ourselves to be in love." She found Sybil's hand with her own. "It - it _is_ love, isn't it, Sybil? Not just - just… _lust_? Because if you marry him, there'll be no going back. You _must_ be sure."

"I am," Sybil replied, clear-eyed and firm. "I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else. I wouldn't have done something so - so drastic, if I hadn't been sure."

A knock interrupted them. "Hello, my lamb. Your brother-in-law's here," Mrs Dale smiled as she poked her head around Edith's bedroom door. Sybil flinched. "Mr Branson and the master are already down, in the library."

"Oh, God."

Edith kissed the side of her head. "Don't worry. He'll bluster and rant and rave, but only because he's worried." She shook her head. "Darling. Whyever you thought you needed to deceive him, I'll never know."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "All right for you. At least Richard sees _you_ as an adult."

Edith sighed. "You're barely nineteen, my darling. And you're only just out of prison. He's _concerned_, that's all. Let me go and see him first, hmm?"

* * *

Downstairs, Richard was being relieved of his coat and hat by Mr Stewart. He looked up as Edith pattered down the stairs, still in her nightclothes.

"Richard, thank God," Edith greeted him. As much of a support as Sir Anthony had been, the arrival of the head of the family had taken a weight off Edith's shoulders that she had not even really realised was there.

Richard squeezed her shoulder for a moment, as he might do a brother, and then asked, "Where is he?"

"The library." She shook her head. "He's got his heart set on her, Richard. And she hers on him. I don't think that threats will do any good - "

"We'll see," he answered grimly. "Take me through?"

"Ah, Sir Richard!" Sir Anthony poked his head out of the library passage, and then advanced across the hall, hand extended to shake Richard's. "So glad to see you. I'm sure you've heard - Miss Sybil is upstairs resting, and Mr Branson is in the library. I'll take you through in a moment - but might I have a word of your time, first?"

Edith glanced up at Richard, who nodded briskly. "Very well."

"Mrs Crawley, why don't you take a cup of tea up to your sister?" Sir Anthony smiled. "I shan't need you for the rest of the morning, I'm sure."

* * *

"Branson."

Tom shot to his feet, looking anxiously at his employer. But Sir Richard did not seem about to hit him. Indeed, he came quite casually over to the sofa opposite where Tom was sitting and sank back into it, observing him narrowly. At length, Tom eased himself gingerly back into his own chair.

"You know," Sir Richard said, conversationally, "Hewerdine is retiring at the end of the month. I'll be looking for a new political sub-editor."

"What are you saying?" Tom murmured, blinking in confusion.

"I'm saying… give up this idiotic idea that you're going to marry my sister-in-law, and the job's yours."

Tom's reply was both concise and obscene.

Richard lifted a single eyebrow, stood… and extended his hand for Tom to shake. The Irishman stared at it for a moment, open-mouthed, and then hesitantly, took it.

"You'll marry in London," Richard said. "She won't bring much money with her, but we can discuss that later."

"Wh-what are you saying?"

"You're an engaged man, Branson." Sir Richard's face creased into a dry smile. "Try to look at least a _little_ cheerful about it, hmm?"

"You're - you're giving your permission?"

"Withholding anything from Sybil does no good. You'll learn that, and maybe you'll come to regret it. But, for what it's worth, yes, you have my blessing. Will you tell her, or shall I?"

"I'll - I'll do it." Tom rose shakily to his feet. "_Thank you_."

He hurried to the door, opening it on Edith. With a grin, he slid past her. "Thank you, Miss Crawley. Is - is Sybil upstairs? I've got the most wonderful news for her." Without even waiting for a reply, he made for the stairs at a dash. Edith shot Richard a look full of wry amusement. "You gave your permission, then, I take it?"

He nodded. "Let's just say… Branson proved his worth."

"I see." Edith came in and shut the door behind her, taking the seat next to him on the sofa.

"And what about you?" he wondered. "I know things didn't quite work out between you and Mr Pelham, but… you'd let me know, wouldn't you, if there were any young doctor or clergyman or solicitor I should be taking aside for a stern word?"

She blushed. "Don't be idiotic, Richard."

"What about baronets, then?"

Edith rolled her eyes. "Oh, not that again…"

"So… you aren't in love with Sir Anthony?"

"_Richard._" It slipped out as an agonised whisper. "_Please don't._"

"Why not?" In classic mercenary manner, he pointed out, "You're the cousin of the Earl of Grantham. A fair match for any man."

"It isn't about that."

"What then?" His voice was perfectly bland.

"He knows me… better than anyone, I think."

"I would have supposed that an excellent basis for a marriage."

"I think in my case," Edith told him wearily, "it's simply an excellent way of scaring a man off." After a moment's pause, she added, "You needn't fret that I'm going to - to _ruin myself_ again, Richard."

"I didn't say that, nor did I even _suggest_ that I thought - "

"Even if he does… care about me _like that_, Richard, nothing will come of it." Bitterly, she pointed out, "I've seen to that, haven't I?"

"Edith - "

"I should be getting on with my work, Richard. Excuse me."

Outside in the hall, she met Sir Anthony, about to go upstairs himself. "I… I imagine that I have you to thank for Richard giving his consent, sir," she managed, a slight smile wobbling on her lips. "Thank you. Sybil… will be delighted."

He shrugged sheepishly. "It was nothing. Sir Richard really needed very little persuasion."

"Whatever did you say to him?" she wondered.

"Only that… if Miss Sybil were known to have eloped with Mr Branson, and if she were then to return to London unmarried… it mightn't reflect well on her, or on him."

"Oh. Was that all?" She let out a breathy laugh. "I'd have said the same to him myself, if only I'd thought of it. And here I was, considering what advantages of her marrying Mr Branson I could present to him, when all I needed to do was present the one _disadvantage_ of her _not_ marrying him!"

* * *

"Well, that's all settled, then," Edith smiled. She and Sybil were sat on her bed, after dinner, both too wide-awake from the excitement of the day to think yet about sleep. "I'm very happy for you, Sybil."

"You won't have long to wait for your turn, I'm sure of it," Sybil smiled, a little wickedly. "_Not_ if a certain gentleman has anything to say about it."

Edith shook her head. "Poor Sir Anthony! First Richard, now you! What must he do to stop people assuming that he's in love with me?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "He couldn't do anything, darling. He _is_. Why - don't you like him?"

"Of _course_ I do." Edith fiddled with the tie on her dressing gown.

"Well, then, what's the problem?"

"I - I wouldn't be suitable," she hedged. "Whatever he feels or doesn't feel, he must _know_ that."

"Why? Because you're his secretary?" Sybil squeezed her hand. "Is he _really_ the sort of man to let something silly like that get in his way?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I - " Edith frowned. "Do you remember Mr Gregson?"

"Yes." Sybil blinked in confusion. "What does _he_ have to do with this?"

"Well… while I worked for him, I - we - " Her composure wobbled and fell away. "Oh, _Sybil_!"

Her look must have been eloquent enough, for: "You were… _lovers_?" Sybil whispered, stunned.

Edith nodded, a shuddering little sob escaping her.

"And Sir Anthony knows?" Sybil asked. "How on earth - "

Edith looked up, her eyes filling with tears. "I was _pregnant_, Sybil. I was pregnant and I didn't know and then I lost the baby and - and he was here, and I had to tell him everything." She swiped at her eyes. "He was _so_ kind, Sybil, but - but no man wants to get themselves tangled up like that. No man wants a wife who could be so - so _wanton_."

Sybil sat there, gaping at her. At length, she threw her arms around Edith and hugged her tightly. "Oh, _darling_… But you're all right? It didn't… do any lasting damage? Losing the baby?"

It was the last thing Edith had expected. She shook her head against Sybil's shoulder. "No. I'm fine."

"Does Mama know?"

"No." Her voice grew firm. "And I don't want her to. Richard worked it all out, but you must _promise_ not to breathe a word of it to anyone else."

"Of course not." Sybil sat back on her heels, a sudden thought striking her. "Is this why… you and Mr Pelham…?"

Edith nodded. "Yes. He proposed and… well, I had to tell him everything. Heirs to marquisates, unsurprisingly, want to marry virgins."

Sybil's expression was indignant. "He didn't _say_ that to you, did he?!"

Edith had to laugh at that. "No, of course not. But… let's just say it was heavily implied. And… well, why should it be any different for baronets?"

There was silence for several minutes, Sybil's arm still around her older sister, and then she asked, "What's it like?"

Edith blinked. "What's what like, my dear?"

Sybil inclined her head suggestively. "_You know_…"

Edith let out a short bark of laughter. "Oh! Sybil, you do say the funniest things!"

"Well, I'm not going to ask _Mary_, am I? I'd never be able to look Richard in the face again!"

Edith shrugged. "It's… nice, I suppose. Nothing earth-shattering, but… _nice_."

Sybil looked faintly disappointed. "Oh. Then… why are men so keen on it, do you think?"

Edith smiled, a little bitterly. "Like so many other things, darling, I think it's somewhat different for them…"


	52. Renewed Addresses

**AN: Thank you all for the lovely reviews for the last few chapters - you lot really do wonders for a lady's self-esteem! Wishing you all a happy and peaceful holiday season.**

* * *

In the end, Sybil married Mr Branson at the registry office in York, a week later. She hadn't trusted Richard _quite_ enough to go back to London with him without a ring on her finger, and with Sir Anthony's help, she had persuaded her brother-in-law that a quick, quiet marriage in the North would be better than returning to London still unmarried after there had been time for the scandalous story to leak around London.

Mama and Mary came up for the wedding, and Edith went along with Sir Anthony and Pip, too, with Richard giving the bride away.

Edith had never seen Sybil look more confident, or more radiant. Perhaps she and Mr Branson would be all right together.

Back at Locksley, Mrs Cox had provided a small wedding breakfast. Sybil and Tom were going straight back to London - Tom had been given three days off work, to settle his new bride into his flat, but money was going to be tight enough, without the added expense of a honeymoon too.

Around two o'clock in the afternoon, everyone started to depart. Quickly, Sybil bobbed up on her tiptoes and kissed Sir Anthony's cheek, so sweet and childlike. "Thank you so much, Sir Anthony. Tom told me how helpful you've been. It's easy to see why Edith admires you so much."

Her sister's employer blushed a little. "Well, one does what one can, you know."

Sybil turned and set eyes on Edith, talking quietly to their mother. "Darling," she said, taking Edith's hand, "I'm not going to bother throwing the bouquet, or anything - I'd just like you to have it." She handed over the bunch of fragrant lilies. "And," she added impishly, "We'll just hope that it has the same effect."

After that, Edith felt her life settling back into some sort of rhythm. She did her work efficiently and cheerfully, played with Pip, went to the motorcar club - and spent her evenings in Sir Anthony's company, playing the piano, or reading, or practising chess. It was peaceful and comforting and Edith found it very difficult to believe that her life could ever contain greater happiness than this, whatever Sybil might think.

There had been a letter from her, about a week after the wedding, that had made Edith smile and raise her eyebrows at the same time:

_Darling Edith,_

_I'm all settled into my new home now, so thought I would drop you a line - my first as a married woman! We're very happy and snug, and I hope that that will set your mind at rest. (I know how you like to worry about me, darling Edith!)_

_Tom's landlady is a sweetheart, and she's been helping me to practise cooking and laundry and so forth. Tom thinks, with some careful accounting, that we might be able to afford a maid, in a few months' time. I don't really mind, though - it's all terribly good fun! But don't tell Mama or Mary that I said that - they'd be awfully shocked._

_I must tell you, darling, there was _one_ thing you were wrong about. Yes, it is nice - but it's earth-shattering _too_. One day, I hope you find a man of your own who makes you feel like that._

_With my fondest love,_

_Sybil xx_

It had been interesting, at least, that letter. Particularly that final paragraph. Edith had puzzled over it for some considerable time, before she reached the only possible conclusion: that her experiences with Michael had not, perhaps, been the only experience possible. Was it the case that, in the joining of two human bodies, there could be found something more than comfort and a vague sense of warmth? Sybil clearly thought so - and clearly thought that there was the possibility that one day Edith herself would be made intimately aware of it too.

And where _that_ left her, she could not have said.

* * *

"Mrs Crawley… Mr Pelham is here to see you."

It was a scorching July day, and Edith was happy. The library windows were thrown wide open, there was a glass of Mrs Cox's homemade lemonade next to her, and the laugh she had let loose at something Sir Anthony had just said was still on her lips as her hands stilled on the keys of her typewriter and she turned shocked eyes on Mrs Dale.

"_Who's_ here to _what_?" she whispered.

"Mr Pelham." Mrs Dale's face creased in sudden sympathy. "Waiting in the hall, my lamb."

"Oh." It was barely a sound at all. And then, louder: "Oh, God."

Sir Anthony looked across at her seriously, all traces of amusement dying from his face too. "Do you want me to send him on his way, my dear? I can, you know."

"Yes. No." She let out a breath and pinched the bridge of her nose briefly. "I don't know."

"I can tell him you're not at home." His voice was soft, not insisting, just offering. "It's no trouble. Whatever you wish."

"N-no," Edith stood and steadied herself against the desk for a moment. "I should go and see what he wants. Will you excuse me, sir?"

"Of course. Use the little library - _and ring if you need someone_."

She managed the tiniest of smiles. _Oh, but today had been _such_ a lovely day! _"Thank you, sir."

"Hello, Bertie."

He started and turned around at the sound of her voice as she emerged into the hall. He looked as if he had been brushing a hand through his hair in frustration, several times, for it stuck up on end, like a hedgehog that had been dragged through the hedge backwards. "Edith." Her name sounded like an exhale of relief. "I wasn't sure you'd see me."

"Neither was I," she admitted coolly. "H-how are you?"

"Fine." He sighed. "Can we talk somewhere private, just for a moment?"

"Alright." She gestured hesitantly across the hall. "Come through to the little library."

They had barely stepped into the room and shut the door behind them, however, when Bertie seized her hand. "Please, Edith." His voice shook - with nerves or passion, she was not sure. "I'm still in love with you. I - I've realised that I can't imagine my life without you. _Hang_ the scandal of it. Please say that you'll consider becoming my wife. _Please_."

Edith opened her mouth and then closed it again.

_A good man wouldn't have cared about your answer… He did not deserve you._

Sir Anthony's voice echoed in her head, and if she had not known before what her answer would be, suddenly she did.

She shrugged helplessly and when she opened her mouth again, her answer slipped out as easily as she had been draining glasses of Mrs Cox's lemonade all day. "I'm sorry, Bertie. I can't."

"But - but I'm in love with you," he repeated. "And it took these awful months without you to make me see that I - I'm not ready for the idea of a life without you. And your cousin and Lady Fyfe suggested that it might be worth my asking again - "

Edith nodded, her hand sliding from his. "I see." She closed her eyes briefly, and then pressed on: "I - I know that you _think_ you know your own mind, Bertie, but - if - if you had loved me - _really _loved me - then you wouldn't have cared when I told you about Mr Gregson."

Bertie's face drained of colour. "That's _unfair_. There's not one man in a hundred who wouldn't have - have looked askance at it, Edith." He leaned forwards earnestly, taking her hands again. "My dear, you do realise, don't you, that it's unlikely you'll ever find a man who _won't_ be shocked by this?"

Gently but firmly, Edith pulled herself free. "Perhaps," she agreed. "But… I'm not quite ready to give up on that dream just yet. Not at all." She took a deep breath. "And even if I don't… even if I never find someone… then being alone is still better than marrying without love. I don't - Bertie, I don't feel as you do. I - once, I thought that it didn't matter, that we could make some sort of life together anyway, but - it wouldn't be at all fair on you, you know." She gave a tight little smile. "Or on me."

"But - "

She shrugged. "You'd never be able to forget it, you know. Every time you looked at me across the breakfast table, every time I gave you a child, every time you came to my bed… you'd remember. You'd remember Mr Gregson and the child I lost and the fact that I was willing to risk losing _everything_ for the sake of - " She stopped. "_You'd never be able to forget it._ But one day, Bertie, you're going to meet a girl whom you love so much that _nothing_ she can say or do will shake your feelings. She'll be _terribly_ lucky. But - I'm not that girl."

"Edith - " he whispered, tears in his eyes.

With quiet dignity, Edith turned for the door. "Bertie, I think very highly of you. I _really_ do. But… I don't think we should suit, as husband and wife. Thank you, very much, for your proposal… but I can't accept." She swallowed. "Goodbye."

* * *

The door of the main library opened very quietly, Edith entered, the door shut and she returned to her desk. "What did Mr Pelham want?" Anthony found himself asking. _As if you don't already know. Maybe he isn't as much of a cad as you thought him._

Edith looked up at him, speechless for a moment. "You won't believe this," she murmured eventually, "but… he offered to marry me again. He said… that he'd thought about it, and that he could bear the scandal."

"A-and what did you tell him?" _Please say you refused him. Please. He doesn't deserve you. You must see that. Please._

She was already typing again, but her fingers paused briefly to reply, "I told him that… that I didn't think it would be a terribly good idea."

"You… you _refused_ him?" Sir Anthony's voice was quiet and almost… disbelieving?

Edith shot him a shy smile. "Yes. I did."

"Why? I would have thought… well…"

She shrugged. "I… I've had a lot of time to think about it and… well, I'm content, as I am, _where_ I am." She let out a little huff of laughter. "I don't think I want to be _anyone's_ wife. Not yet, anyway. And… if he could be so shaky here, if he could falter so much… it would always have been hanging over us. It would have overshadowed anything we might have had. And… well, it wouldn't have made him a good husband." She took a breath and admitted, "Not - not the sort of husband that I deserve, anyway." She laughed, lightly. "Gosh. I'm not sure where that came from. How conceited I sound!"

"On the contrary." Sir Anthony was positively beaming. "My dear, you've no idea how happy that makes me - to hear you… _valuing_ yourself, as you should be valued."

* * *

Edith lay in bed that night, the light breeze brushing through the curtains, her hands crossed over her stomach, thinking.

Bertie's words kept revolving in her head. "_…it's unlikely you'll ever find a man who _won't_ be shocked by this…"_

It was odd, really, wasn't it? Because, in a way, she already _had_. Sir Anthony… well, he _had_ been shocked, but not in the way that Bertie had expected. Not in a way that had made him cruel or…

_His_ shock had only made him kinder, gentler, sweeter, more concerned for her welfare. It was shock that she had been _hurt_, not that she had behaved badly.

Faintly, Edith smiled.


	53. Bombshell

**AN: I hope everyone has been having a peaceful and enjoyable festive season; this will be probably be the final update before the New Year. Slide on your lifejackets, fellow shipmates, angst ahoy...**

* * *

"I suppose you'll be driving yourself to Veronica's this evening?" Sir Anthony smiled over breakfast one Friday morning. Edith had received her licence, paid for by her generous employer, the week before, once Veronica had pronounced her a proficient enough driver.

Edith returned the smile. "If you'll lend me the Rolls, sir."

"Of course, my dear. I didn't pay five shillings _not _to."

"Can't you drive me to school this morning, Mrs C.?" Pip piped up. It was the last week of term, and Pip was _itching_ to be on holiday. "Hardly _any_ of the other chaps have mothers who can _drive._"

There was silence for a second, both adults staring at Pip, before he realised what he had said and flushed bright red. "Um… I - I'm sorry, Mrs C., I - "

"Yes," Edith interrupted brightly, "of course I'll drive you. It'll give your papa time to get on with all that horrid paperwork I've left on his desk." Kindly, she suggested, "Why don't you go and get your things together? Meet you on the front step in… ten minutes?"

Still crimson from his hairline to his collar, Pip nodded and fled.

Edith and Anthony exchanged looks and then, quite suddenly, burst into hearty laughter.

* * *

Pip was silent for much of the journey. Edith could feel him shooting her little sidelong glances. At length, he exploded.

"I'm sorry for being so forward at breakfast, Mrs C."

Edith pulled up at a junction, and looked at him. "I don't know that you were _forward_, exactly, my dear. You gave your papa and I quite a laugh, truly."

Pip looked out of the window, chewing his lip. "It's just… well, you're a bit… a bit like having a mother again, I s'pose."

"Am I, indeed?" Edith asked, releasing the handbrake and turning left, a tone of faint amusement in her voice.

Pip nodded enthusiastically. "Well, you _scold_ like one. And you give nice hugs and sew buttons back on and sit with Papa in the evenings. But… I didn't… I didn't mean to insult you."

Edith wrapped her free arm briefly around Pip's shoulders and squeezed. "Darling, the very _last_ thing I am is _insulted_. If I were ever to have a son, then I should hope that he would be _exactly_ like you."

"Really?" Pip whispered, eyes glowing.

"_Really_ really."

* * *

The motorcar club was a little quiet that evening - Isobel was at home, not wanting to leave Lavinia now that her baby was two weeks' overdue; Claudia and Hugh had had an influx of grandchildren; the Montgomeries were with their boys, home from school already for the summer (a point that had been the cause of much indignation in Pip when he had heard); and Miss Hargreaves was accompanying a school trip to the seaside at Whitby.

So it was that, at the end of the evening, when the members gathered in Veronica's library, Edith found herself somehow being drawn into conversation with Lady Fyfe. Really, Edith was not sure how it had happened, but Mrs Bentley was haranguing Veronica about the church bazaar ("Really, my dear, I'm sure you can spare an hour to stand on a stall for me, can't you?") and Flora was poring over the latest fashion magazines with Miss Bentley ("Hmm… I'm not quite sure about the buttons on this skirt. What do _you_ think, Lady Flora?")

"My dear…" Lady Fyfe murmured in Edith's ear, "you might not think very much of me… we certainly haven't been friends… but I _would_ like to warn you…"

"Warn me?" Edith tipped her head back, lips pursed. "About what, exactly?" Her voice was too cold to be polite, but she didn't care. After what Bertie had said - _Your cousin and Lady Fyfe suggested that it might be worth my asking again _\- she had no inclination _whatsoever_ to be nice to her. _Isobel_ might have been acting out of kindness and care, but Lady Fyfe would have had no object other than satisfying her own jealousy, and getting Edith out of the way, leaving her path to Sir Anthony supposedly clear.

"About Sir Anthony." Lady Fyfe laid a faux-concerned hand on Edith's arm which she shook off immediately. "I must tell you… his attentions towards you have not gone… unnoticed."

Edith's face flamed red. "I have no _earthly_ idea what you're talking about," she managed. She was lying, and she had never been good at that.

Lady Fyfe lifted a pitying, derisive eyebrow and in that moment, Edith could have struck her, were it not for the others in the room. "Concerts?" she pointed out, voice dripping with disbelief. "Trips to London? He's making no secret of the fact that he finds you attractive, my dear. And his behaviour is raising eyebrows. Just a friendly warning - you wouldn't want your reputation to be called into question, after all…"

"Sir Anthony has never behaved with anything other than _absolute_ propriety towards me." Edith could hear her voice shaking as she uttered the lie. "I think that only someone with an exceptionally _low_ mind might think otherwise, _my lady._"

"Please, don't let yourself be tricked, my dear." Lady Fyfe shook her head almost sadly. "After all, it wouldn't be the first time…"

Edith swallowed and the breath went out of her. "I don't - I don't understand."

"My dear… just think about what you know about the late, _lamented_ Lady Strallan." Virginia's voice was still quiet and it dripped condescension. "A silly, flirtatious, frivolous chit of a girl. Does that _really_ fit with what you know about Sir Anthony, about what a man like that would want in a wife?" She tutted. "Of course, I don't _blame_ him - men will, after all, be men - but you know, he never would have married her if she hadn't seduced him first." Her eyebrows lifted sadly. "He has a _taste_, shall we say, for the less than respectable - _especially_ in women. A habit of… not worrying overmuch about the bonds of matrimony. And, whatever we may feel about each other, I would hate for you to find that out… _first hand_."

Edith felt her heart thump, once, twice, painfully. "_That_ is a lie," she managed. "A foul slander. How dare you? How dare you even _think_ of impugning the honour of a man like him?" Her voice trembled and anger made her reckless. "Is this because he didn't want to marry you?"

"No." Lady Fyfe shook her head. "Believe what you like, my dear, but I am telling you these things because they are the _truth_." She chuckled sadly. "If you don't believe me, then ask Claudia. She'll tell you everything you need to know." Her ladyship's eyebrow lifted sardonically. "I trust that you will accept _her_ word?"

Edith didn't reply. Almost blindly, she shot to her feet. "Veronica," she blurted out, "I'm terribly sorry - I think I must go."

"Are you all right, my dear?" Flora asked anxiously. "You look terribly pale."

"Mmm," agreed Veronica, frowning. "Don't want you ending up in a ditch somewhere, Edie."

Edith shook her head firmly. "N-no. I'm fine. Bit tired. Thank you, for a lovely evening. Goodnight, everyone."

She drove home very slowly and carefully, keeping a firm lid on the ache that was rising in her throat, her hands clenched tightly around the Rolls' steering wheel. She slipped in through Locksley's front door, studiously avoiding the glimmer of light coming from the library passage, locked up the front door and slipped away upstairs with all the silence of a mouse. Mrs Dale met her on the landing. "Oh, you're home early, my lamb! Nothing wrong, I hope?"

"No," Edith lied, "just a little tired. I'm turning straight in. Goodnight, Mrs Dale."

A few hours later, Mrs Dale went into the library, to empty the ash tray and collect the whisky tray. Sir Anthony frowned sleepily up at her from his armchair. "Oh, hello, Mrs Dale. What time is it?"

"Just gone midnight, sir."

His frown deepened. "Oh? That's odd - has Mrs Crawley arrived back yet?"

Mrs Dale nodded. "Why, yes, sir - just after half past nine. She was tired and went straight to bed. Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Dale. I'm sorry for keeping you all up. Please, tell Stewart I shall be up in five minutes."

"Of course, sir. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mrs Dale," he murmured, but there was something troubled in his eyes as he rose from the armchair and set aside his book.

* * *

Claudia's butler was terribly surprised to see Mrs Crawley in the hallway at such an hour of the morning. "Hello, Mrs Crawley. An errand from Sir Anthony?"

"Yes. Something like that." Edith knew her voice sounded odd - trembly and tight - but she was too wound up to care. "Is Lady Gervas available?"

Her ladyship _was _available. Of course she would see Mrs Crawley. Edith was shown through to Claudia's comfortable sitting room, all soft squishy sofas and footstools, with Jasper curled up on the window-seat, snoozing in a patch of sunlight.

"Oh, do sit down, Edith dear. I'm just finishing a letter, but I shall be with you in two ticks," Claudia smiled from her bureau. "Davis, Mrs Crawley will be joining me for tea."

Edith lowered herself somewhat unsteadily onto the sofa as the butler bowed and slipped from the room. She would have rather been allowed to pace. Her hands fisted in her skirt, sieving the slightly rough wool through her fingers. How would she begin? Now that she was here, it seemed ridiculous - and yet she knew that Lady Fyfe would not have suggested it if there were not some truth to the matter. Edith knew that she was here not because she expected to have her ladyship exposed as a liar, but because she wanted to know the worst - to be told it plainly and honestly, by someone she could trust. What she would do after that, she couldn't say.

Briskly, Claudia signed off the letter, waved it to dry the ink, folded it in half and slipped it into the already addressed and stamped envelope. "Now, what can I help you with?" she beamed, settling herself on the sofa next to Edith in a cloud of soft violet scent.

Edith took a deep steadying breath. "Oh… it's… rather awkward. I - I was talking to Lady Fyfe today. A-about Sir Anthony."

Was she mistaken, or did she see Lady Gervas's eyelashes flutter as if in surprise? Cautiously, Claudia repeated, "About Anthony?" Her chuckle was fragile and the sound of it dropped like lead into Edith's belly. "Whatever can she have had to say about him?"

"She - she seemed to believe that - that Sir Anthony's behaviour towards his wife… before they were married was… somewhat less than honourable." Edith chanced a glance at her friend, trying not to sink further into the sofa in her embarrassment. "And… and I came to ask whether… whether she was being truthful, or just… just…"

"Just her usual spiteful self?" Claudia asked wryly, an eyebrow lifted disapprovingly. "Well, out with it, my dear, the full tale - you've piqued my curiosity now."

Edith took a breath. "She seemed to think that - that Sir Anthony had… had… that he and Lady Strallan… before wedlock…" She couldn't force the words out of her mouth, no matter how hard she tried, could not ruin the cosy tranquility of Claudia's sitting room with such foulness.

Claudia sighed heavily. "Ah. What you're trying to ask me, I believe, is whether Anthony and Maude went to bed with each other before they were married."

She sounded so completely _unsurprised_ that Edith found herself suddenly able to look at her. Her mouth felt dry and bitter with tension. "Are - " she croaked; and then coughed and swallowed. Claudia poured her her cup of tea; gratefully, Edith took a sip from it. "Are you saying that it's _true?_" Edith managed to whisper.

"My dear…" Claudia sighed, her eyes brimming with sympathy. "I hope that I haven't shocked you - Anthony - "

"No," Edith interrupted; she couldn't bear to hear whatever it was that Lady Gervas was trying to say. "As you say, it's better to be in full possession of all the facts, in any situation." Quickly, she rose to her feet, setting aside her cup. "Thank you, Lady Gervas. I won't take up any more of your time. You've been… most helpful."

She saw Claudia rising to her feet, an expression of compassionate sympathy crossing her face, but she could not bear, either, to stay and hear her try to justify her friend's disgraceful behaviour. She marched very steadily from the room, collected her coat from the footman (glad beyond measure that Claudia had not tried to follow her) and went out to the car.

The betrayal was searing - as if someone had physically sliced her open with a kitchen knife, one of those horridly sharp ones with a wicked, serrated edge. Edith drove quickly away from the Gervases' house - got herself back onto the main road, and a good mile or so away, before she pulled over in the Rolls, turned the engine off, buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

_He_ had done _that. _He had gone to bed with a woman before she was his wife, before she was even his _fiancee_, by the sounds of things. What had he done to Maude, that _Michael_ had not done to _her_? At least _Michael_ had never made any secret of the fact that he was not free to marry her - that all he was offering was a casual, if long-term, dalliance. But he - he had been free to marry Maude in the usual way, he had had no need of deception and immorality and -

Any thought of such a connection repulsed her now. It was repugnant, disgusting, nauseating. Connections such as that were made for the convenience of men - and _only_ of men. As she had found out - as had been brought starkly home to her when she had lost the baby - in situations such as that, the woman bore _all_ the risk. Hers alone would be the shame and the humiliation and the loss of reputation were such an illicit affair to be discovered by anyone outside of her immediate family. A man could disentangle himself with really very little difficulty - unless the affair were made public, unless his lover became with child (and that only if she were of his class), he could walk away, start again, seduce some other poor, impressionable, innocent girl.

And _Anthony Strallan_, whom she had built up to be such a great man, such a _hero_… when it came down to it, he was just as dishonest and shabby and lustful as every other man in Creation.

It was the _hypocrisy_ of it that bit at her most of all, she thought, that he could rail so against men like Michael and Larry Grey, and not show the slightest trace of shame, or merest _hint_ that he, too, had once behaved in such a way, had once ruined a girl.

Had he wanted to marry her? Maude? Or had someone discovered their relationship? _He never would have married her if she hadn't seduced him first_, Lady Fyfe had said. Well, Edith wasn't sure what to think about that, about who had been responsible. _Had _she seduced him, or was that just Lady Fyfe's own petty unwillingness to believe anything bad of her _darling _Anthony?

Well, Edith had no such scruples.

She felt, in that moment, that she could believe anybody capable of anything. If even Anthony Strallan - kind, noble, honourable, steady, _decent_ Anthony Strallan - could have his way with a woman before marrying her, then there was no goodness left in the world, no honour, no kindness, no nobility, no decency.

Edith took a deep, shaking breath. The hour was drawing on. She had to get back to Locksley before she was missed.

And then… she knew not what she would do.

She managed for the rest of the day, forcing smiles in Pip's company, and avoiding solitude with Sir Anthony. After dinner, she pled a headache from the sun, and fled to bed.

Breakfast the next morning was more awkward still - Pip was shovelling food into his mouth at a rate of knots, eager to escape off with some school chums, and Edith could only pick at her food, her stomach still a hot, broiling mess of rage and grief.

By ten o'clock, the confrontation could not be put off any longer. It was Sir Anthony who finally broached the silence. "I wish I knew what I had said or - or _done_ to - to put this wall up between us." He came to stand by her desk, his voice doing a creditable impression of someone very upset indeed. Edith almost laughed - a bitter laugh, to be sure - at how wonderful a liar, how skilled a manipulator he was, and how foolish she herself had been to allow herself to be lied to and manipulated for so very, very long.

"I don't know what you mean, sir." She kept her eyes fixed on her paperwork, refusing to look up. It was the height of rudeness, but hurt had made her reckless. _Who cared if he thought her rude?_

"I thought that we… were a partnership." His voice was helpless. "_Friends_."

Now Edith could not hold back her savage amusement - she let out a dry, bitter chuckle. "A friend to whom you pay sixteen shillings a week, sir, is no friend at all."

"I don't understand."

It nearly broke her, that soft, quiet, hurt voice. He almost sounded… _sorry. _As if he truly believed himself to blame, and wished to correct whatever he had done wrong.

"I don't want to - to _give the wrong impression_," she managed, to her shame. But it was true. If Lady Fyfe had seen the connection between them, had started to make assumptions, then others would follow. How many other people in Sir Anthony's circle were aware of his predilections? The Gervases, certainly. Mrs Montgomery? Veronica? And if she let it go on, then all too soon, they would assume that she was his mistress and her character - for the second time in her life - would be irreparably ruined in the eyes of the world at large. She could not risk it. She _would_ not risk it - certainly not for a man like Anthony Strallan!

"You haven't, not to me." Suddenly, he asked, "Has someone said something to you? Something unkind? _Accused_ you of something?"

"No, sir. Please excuse me, I have an awful lot of work to do." It was a brisk, not altogether polite dismissal.

"Of course," Anthony murmured, unable to shake the feeling, as he left the library, that his secretary was about to cry.

* * *

Two more days of silence ensued. Mrs Crawley discharged her work with perfect efficiency, was helpful to the staff and lively in Pip's presence, but the moment she and Anthony were left alone, she would sink once more into frosty, severe politeness.

At last, after too many sleepless nights wondering what had caused such a sudden change, Anthony could bear it no longer. "Mrs Crawley, I - I do wish that you would tell me what has happened to distress you so much."

"I - "

"And do not even _think_ of telling me that it is nothing," Sir Anthony interrupted firmly. "We cannot continue like this. If I have offended you in some way, then much better to have it all out in the open and clear the air." He sat down and gestured between them. "So… what is it?"

Edith took a deep breath. She needed to get it all out in one breath, really, no matter that it would embarrass her to speak the words, no matter that he would think her prying and impertinent and -

"I was talking to Lady Fyfe on Friday evening and she made me privy to certain - certain pieces of information, regarding your marriage to Lady Strallan, and - and what led to it."

"I see." His eyebrows knitted together briefly, but his voice remained perfectly even and polite.

"And then, because I was so very shocked by what I had learned, I went to Lady Gervas, who categorically confirmed all of those reports. So… if you must know why I have been so _distressed,_ as you put it - " Edith stopped, realising that her voice was had risen in volume and taken on a spiteful tone. With an effort she controlled herself. _He_ might be little better than an animal, but _she_ could still behave with propriety. "If you must know why I have been so distressed, then _that_ is why. It is because I have discovered that a man whom I have respected and admired has been capable of such - such a lack of all gentlemanly behaviours." There was a long silence, broken only by the tap of soft raindrops - a sudden summer shower - against the window panes. "Well?" she challenged him eventually. "Will you deny it, sir?"

"No," he admitted, heavily, after a moment. "No. I will not deny it. I will not deny that I ruined my wife's character before our marriage." She let out a little choked gasp and he closed his eyes briefly. "I will not deny that that was the reason why we were married so very quickly." He met her eyes. "Claudia and Ginny were perfectly right to tell you. I ought to have done so myself. Your reputation - "

"Damn my reputation," she snapped, eyes blazing. "How _could_ you? How _could _you be such a hypocrite? Whenever I have been angry about Papa, or Michael - or even Bertie, for Heaven's sakes! - that was the _one_ thing that reassured me, the _one_ thing that made me feel as if there were still some good in the world. I used to think 'at least Anthony Strallan is a decent person - at least Anthony Strallan would never behave so _callously_'. Well, just how wrong can one woman be?"

"Edith…" he tried.

"Don't." She almost spat the word at him, flinching at the sound of her Christian name falling from his lips. "Don't even _think_ of trying to justify yourself. Is that why you've been so kind? Because you were hoping for the favour to be returned? I suppose, given my past behaviour, I oughtn't to be surprised. I've ruined myself once, why on Earth shouldn't you assume that I'd do it again?" Her voice dripped poison.

"_No!" _He couldn't hide the horrified disgust in his voice. Was that what she thought? That he was some sort of lecherous cad who had been trying to seduce her? "God, _no! _That was absolutely not what I was thinking. I…"

"When would I have realised, I wonder?" she continued, as if she had not heard him. "Knowing my own _stupidity_, not until I was flat on my back with your hand up my skirt!" That was what had happened before, after all, wasn't it? That first night with Michael, she hadn't really focused on what was going to happen until he had pressed her back into the sofa cushions and started to lift her dress.

He winced at her words. "Oh, I'm _so_ sorry." Edith's voice shook with anger. "Was that _awfully_ crude of me? Of course, in future, I shall ensure that I don't say anything else of an improper or unladylike nature in your presence. You being such a _gentleman_, sir."

She marched for the door; his hand reached out to stop her and she jerked away. "Don't touch me! Don't you _ever_ lay a finger on me again!"

"Edith, _please_ \- "

"You'll have my resignation on your desk in the morning." She swallowed. "After that… I'll be leaving as soon as possible. Don't even _think_ of trying to persuade me to stay."

* * *

Well, that was it. His own stupidity brought back to ruin him, just when he had least expected it, just when he had believed happiness to be within his grasp. He had been a young idiot, had let his feelings run away with him, and while everything had turned out as happily as it could in the circumstances, he had been a fool to think that he would escape so easily. That no one would ever think to inquire a little more deeply into the circumstances surrounding such a very _hasty_ marriage.

He was sickened with himself. He'd hurt two women he'd claimed to care about - one thirteen years ago, and another just five minutes earlier. Three, if you counted Ginny.

Ginny. His lip curled. Well, he could hardly blame her. No doubt she'd been feeling spiteful - not surprising, given his behaviour towards _her_ \- or perhaps she truly had been trying to do Edith a good turn, and warn her about the sort of man with whom she'd been planning on getting herself involved.

What did it matter now, anyway?

Edith was distraught, and intent on leaving, and there was nothing he could do to persuade her otherwise. He did not even think he deserved to try. After all, it was all his own fault. He had been young and stupid, and had let himself get carried away. Maude had been passionate and willing and when she had said, "Anthony. Yes. Please." … well, he had not had the strength to turn her away. Of course, Edith, with all her awful experiences of men and their carelessness, would not understand, and he could not expect her to.

He buried his face in his hands. He was an idiot. An idiot of the first degree - and he had broken Edith's heart.


	54. Estrangement

"Papa… Mrs Crawley isn't… isn't _leaving_, is she?"

"Wherever did you hear that?" Anthony knew his voice was too sharp, too panicked - a clever lad like Pip would pick up on that. He was not disappointed.

"She _is_, isn't she?" Pip swivelled to look at him properly and Anthony's hands tightened on the steering wheel under the scrutiny. "Why? What did you _say_ to her? What made her want to leave us?" His voice grew higher and more panicked with every syllable.

Anthony sighed. "It's just… time that she moved on, old chap. That's all."

"But she _promised_," Pip whispered, staring emptily out of the windscreen. "She _promised_ she wasn't going _anywhere_."

* * *

When he poked his head into the study later, he was nearly barrelled over by a sobbing Pip running out. "Pip - "

"Leave him," Mrs Crawley managed from the fireplace, sounding almost as distraught as his son had. "You've done enough damage for one day, I think."

"Damage?"

"Telling him that I was leaving." Her voice broke again as she looked at him. "How _could_ you do something so _beastly_?"

Anthony entered the room fully and shut the door behind him with a snap. "Well, you _are_, aren't you? He had to know sometime."

"Yes, but - but not before everything was settled!" she cried. "Anyone with half a grain of sense would have - but I suppose that that's just _too _much to ask! So now we'll have him fretting and sobbing for weeks all because - " Her face took on the expression of something slowly dawning on her. "God, did you do this on _purpose_?"

"No! Mrs Crawley - "

She carried on, heedless of what he had said. "Tell him so that he'd be upset and guilt-trip me into staying?" She straightened her shoulders. "Well, don't think that it will work!"

"Mrs Crawley - "

"It's the most _despicable, _shabby - but I oughtn't to have expected anything less from the man who - "

"_Mrs Crawley!_" he thundered and she fell suddenly, shockingly silent, staring at him with wide eyes and a trembling lip, her breast rising and falling like a trapped bird was trying to get free. Belatedly, Anthony realised that he was far too close, and towering over her. Stupidly, he'd let her rattle him. He stepped back.

Her silence had, however, only been momentary. Five more seconds, and her fury was back in full force, if slightly more controlled. "Do not _ever_ raise your voice to me again, Sir Anthony." The words were quietly spoken, but shaking with cold anger. A faint voice inside him pointed out how strong and powerful and _magnificent_ she looked in that moment and Anthony hated himself for it.

"Then, Mrs Crawley, don't _you_ accuse me of using my son as a chess piece in some sort of game of - of emotional manipulation!" he snapped.

Edith brushed a weary hand across her eyes, all the turbulence suddenly draining out of her. "Do you know, I really couldn't care less, just now? I'm going to see to Pip."

"Are you - are you going to tell him the real reason why you're leaving?" The words were torn from him, most unwillingly. She stopped and looked up at him as if he had just spat at her feet.

"No." Her voice shook. "He at least will be spared the knowledge that his father lacks _any_ conception of what constitutes honourable behaviour."

The door slammed behind her.

* * *

"I've prepared your reference," Sir Anthony murmured, laying down the envelope on her desk.

Edith did not look up. "Good. Thank you. I'll… inform you, sir, when I have any interviews to attend."

"Of course. We'll be as accommodating as we can. Mrs Crawley - "

"Don't. I said before - don't even think of trying to persuade me to stay." She looked up at him, eyes blazing with anger - mouth tight and full with it. "Don't you see? You've… Whatever we might have had… you've smashed it all to pieces. It was destroyed before we even met."

He bowed his head, opened his mouth as if to say something else, then sighed, closed it and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

_I won't look at it_, Edith thought to herself, studiously avoiding setting her eyes onto the open envelope. _I'm not even interested. It's probably lukewarm at best - just the sort of spiteful, _hateful_ thing a man like that would do. I don't even care what he says. I won't look._

Of its own volition, her hand crept out to touch it.

* * *

_To whom it may concern,_

_I have no hesitation whatsoever in recommending Miss Crawley for whatever position for which she has applied. Over the two years she has worked for me, she has proved herself to be diligent, clever and thoroughly efficient. _

_More than this, she has endeared herself wholeheartedly to the rest of my staff, as well as to my son, all of whom will be most sorry to see her depart. She would be an asset to any household, in whatever capacity required._

_All that remains to be said is that any person who finds themselves fortunate enough to engage her services will gain the loyalty and steadfastness of a woman of true substance._

_I remain yours,_

_Sir Anthony Strallan, Bart._

* * *

Mrs Crawley slapped the reference down on his desk. "I can't accept this."

"Well," he said, in quite a bored tone of voice, without looking up from the letter he was writing, "I'm not letting you leave without a character, so it seems that we have a problem."

"I _won't_ accept it." She hissed impatiently. "This… it's ridiculous. _Glowing_."

"No more or less than you deserve." He lifted an eyebrow. "If you did not want an excellent character, Mrs Crawley, then you oughtn't to have made yourself so thoroughly indispensable. Will you excuse me?"

"No - no, I will _not_ excuse you!" Her breath was coming in heavy, frustrated pants. "_Stop_ it! Stop - stop - "

"Stop what?"

"Being so _bloody_ noble!"

He tutted. "Profanities, Mrs Crawley? That's new."

"If you think this will persuade me - if you think it will make me… make me _pity_ you or - " She stopped. "You're wrong."

"And if you ever thought that I would let you depart with anything less than this, then _you_ were wrong." His voice was quiet. "I might… what was it? Ah, yes…" His lips twitched faintly. "I might 'lack any conception of what constitutes honourable behaviour', but there _are_ limits even to my iniquity, Mrs Crawley."

"Are there?" Her voice made it perfectly clear that she didn't believe that for one moment. "Are there _really_?"

* * *

"Isn't Edith with you?" Flora asked, meeting Claudia at the door.

Claudia shook her head. "No. Oh, my dear, there's been _such_ a to-do. Am I the first here?"

Flora nodded. "Yes. Whatever's happened?"

Veronica poked her head out of the study. "Hello, Claudia. Come through - not brought Edith with you?"

"Not tonight." Lady Gervas passed her coat over to Baines and followed her hostesses into the library. "I'm afraid I made rather a faux-pas earlier this week. Edith came asking about Anthony and Maude." She shook her head. "Of course, you're both too young to have heard of it all, but… well, let's just say that Anthony and Maude were young and in love and…" All three women shared raised eyebrows. Claudia shook her head. "I'm afraid Edith was rather shocked." She scowled. "Damn Ginny Fyfe - it was all her doing, you know."

Veronica's face darkened. "Horrid little witch. Whyever would she want to be so beastly to _Edith_, of all people?"

Claudia sighed. "I don't know. Has she ever _needed_ a reason to be spiteful? Jealous, perhaps, about Anthony and Edith… edging their way towards each other"

Gently, Flora squeezed Veronica's hand. "Don't worry, my darling. People like Ginny Fyfe are always looking to make others unhappy. I'll deal with it."

* * *

"MmFlora…?" Veronica mumbled as the other side of the mattress sank slightly and the eiderdown shifted.

"Oh, sorry," Flora sighed, "did I wake you, darling?"

Veronica shook her head and groped about with her hand until she caught hold of the sleeve of Flora's nightgown and pulled her closer. "_Tsst_! God, Flora, your feet are freezing! What on Earth have you been doing?"

Flora nuzzled her face into Veronica's neck. "Thinking. About this Ginny Fyfe business."

"Until this hour?" Veronica kissed her hair absently. "Got a plan?"

"I think so. I'll need the telephone for a few hours' tomorrow morning. Now, we should get some sleep. Mr Hartley's arriving at ten o'clock for you."

"True," Veronica sighed. A mischievous twinkle came into her eye. "Of course, we _could_…" Her hand, sliding down the collar of Flora's nightgown, made the end of the sentence _entirely _unnecessary.

Flora chuckled softly. "Oh, darling, what a frightfully _clever_ idea…"

* * *

"I didn't realise Veronica was allowing you to host teas here now, Flora," Ginny said as Baines helped her off with her coat and hat.

Flora gave her a thin smile. "Well, I live here now. This is my house, too."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "I see."

"Won't you come through?"

"I feel as if I've been summoned to the headmistress's office for a scolding," Ginny laughed shakily as she preceded Flora into the drawing room. She shivered. "I always think how cold this room is, even in summer."

Flora did not comment. Instead, she sat down and gestured Ginny into a chair opposite her. "Tea? Cake?" Her voice hardened. "A file for that sharp tongue of yours?"

Ginny blinked. "I… don't know what you mean."

Flora shook her head. "Really? Not like you to hide your light under a bushel, Ginny. I would have thought you'd be overjoyed at your little piece of mischief."

"Flora, my dear - "

"Please do not address me as if we were friends, Virginia." Flora's cut-glass voice was suddenly very cold and very hard. "If you insist on feigning ignorance, allow me to remind you. We are talking of your cruelty to Edith Crawley, and your spreading of vile gossip about Sir Anthony Strallan."

"_Gossip_?" Ginny laughed, a brittle, edgy sound. "But that rather implies that what is being said is untrue, does it not? And Anthony would be the first to correct you there. I gave Mrs Crawley some very sound advice - "

"You knew _precisely_ what you were doing." Flora spoke very softly and clearly. "Claudia seems to think that you are in love with Anthony. You've a funny way of showing it."

"What would _you_ know about it?" Ginny asked, fingers clenched in her dress. "A jilt who abandoned her fiancé at the altar?" Her lip curled. "Or are all the rumours about _darling_ Veronica true? Climbing in and out of other women's beds?"

Flora chuckled. "Oh no, my dear. Just mine." She shrugged at Ginny's gasp of shock. "Not that it matters. I had several very interesting telephone calls this morning, you know. Every woman with a scrap of social power in the whole county has been told precisely what you did - that you told lies about an honourable man and broke a girl's heart all because of your own jealousy. I even telephoned my godmother - you know, the Marchioness of Alverley? She was _most_ interested." She tutted, shaking her head in mock sadness. "And Aunt Frances has _always_ been the most incorrigible chatterbox, I'm afraid. All in all, I'd be terribly surprised if anyone who's _anyone_ ever spoke to you again." She smiled, very sweetly. "So tell all the vindictive little tales you like - no one will care, and no will listen, and no one - _no one _\- will believe a word that you say ever, _ever_ again."

She stood up, ringing a little bell on the side-table with a graceful shake of her wrist. Baines appeared in the doorway. "Ah, Baines, Lady Fyfe is leaving."

"Very good, my lady."

"Oh, of course," Flora added, to Ginny's retreating back, "it goes without saying that none of us wish to see you at the motorcar club again."

Ginny paused momentarily, there was a shudder as if she were swallowing hard, and then, without turning around, she laughed harshly, "I should have known you'd take that silly little chit's side, Flora. Scandal does tend to _cling together_, doesn't it?"

"This way, my lady," Baines offered, his voice just the wrong side of polite.

Ginny swept out. Flora sat down again, a touch unsteadily. "My lady?" asked Baines. "Are you quite well?"

Flora flashed him a soft smile. "Yes, thank you, Baines. Might I have a glass of water? I've rather a… bitter taste in my mouth."

Baines bowed, a very kind expression in his eyes. "At _once_, my lady."


	55. Crossroads

Lavinia gave birth to her baby, a hale and hearty boy, in the third week of August. When Edith motored over to visit - anything to avoid spending any more time at Locksley than her duties necessitated - she found Lady Grantham tired but smiling, and her husband every inch the proud and devoted father. "You can hold him if you like, Edith," he offered as they all sat together in Lavinia's dayroom, the Countess stretched out on a sofa in nightdress and dressing gown, her red hair loose over her shoulders.

"Oh, no," Edith demurred. "He looks so comfortable with you, Matthew." She could not forget, after all, what had happened the last time she had had an infant placed in her arms, and she had no desire for a repeat performance, not in front of her distract them from pressing her further, "Have you had any thoughts about names?" she asked.

Lavinia smiled proudly. "George Reginald, after Matthew's brother and our papas."

"It was very sweet of you to think of it, Lavinia," agreed Isobel, her eyes a little misty. At that moment, baby George shifted in his father's arms, woke and began to cry. "Oh, now there's a hungry little chap," his grandmother smiled, swiping hastily underneath her eyes.

Carefully, Matthew settled his heir into Lavinia's arms. "Edith, can I offer you some tea downstairs?"

"Thank you, Matthew, that would be lovely."

In the library, well-supplied with tea and cake, Edith said, "You must be very happy, Matthew."

He grinned boyishly at her over his teacup. "I am. It's certainly a weight off my mind, knowing that the - the succession is secured, if that doesn't sound too medieval."

"Not at all," Edith reassured him. "It's an important consideration. And Lavinia looks very well."

"Yes," he agreed. A faint, troubled look passed over his face. "Do you know, I was rather worried about her? With the baby being so late and… it was a long labour, and he's so _big_…"

Edith squeezed his hand. "But she had your mother, and Dr Clarkson with her. They'd never have let her come to any harm."

"No, no, of course not." But he didn't sound convinced.

Edith refilled his teacup. "Lavinia's very lucky to have a husband who cares about her as much as you do, Matthew."

He smiled, but Edith - long practised at feigning polite emotions in company - could tell that it was forced. "Not really. I'm sure I just exasperated her." Thoughtfully, he shook his head, and when he next spoke, it was almost as if he had forgotten that Edith was there. "It's funny, you know… I never expected things to look so different once the baby was born. But… he's changed everything."

* * *

"Edith?" Veronica asked over tea one day. "Are you still looking for a new job?"

"Yes." It was now almost September - hence Edith's thoroughly gloomy voice. For some reason, there just didn't seem to be anything suitable being advertised just now. Perking up as the true sense of what Veronica was saying sunk in, she added, "Why - do you need a secretary?"

"No. Flora's invaded and colonised there, I'm afraid." At Flora's exclamation of half-amused indignation, Veronica smiled, "And a very efficient job you make of it, too, my darling." Turning her attention back to Edith, she continued, "No. My old headmistress is looking for one. She runs a girls' school in Somerset. She's absolutely terrifying, but utterly brilliant." She grinned sheepishly. "Although… perhaps don't tell her that you're an acquaintance of mine. Let's just say that I… wasn't her least troublesome student."

As they watched Edith motor away down the drive later, Flora sighed. "I wish you wouldn't encourage her, V."

Veronica frowned. "What do you mean?"

Flora shot her a speaking glance. "Encourage her to leave Anthony. They'll both be made dreadfully miserable by it."

Veronica half-scowled. "And she isn't dreadfully miserable _now_?" Tucking her arm into Flora's, she tugged them back inside. "She'll never leave, anyway, no matter how many interviews she has. It's been two whole months since the bomb went off - if she was really intending to leave, she'd have jolly well _left_ by now. But perhaps… a couple of days away from Anthony will make her see how good she has it at Locksley." Veronica raised her eyebrows. "Certainly better than she'd have it slaving away for the wicked witch of the west coast."

"Oh. Well… that's rather clever." Flora frowned. "What will you do if she accepts the job, though?"

"Plan B, I s'pose."

"And what's that?"

Veronica shrugged a little guiltily. "Er… not sure, yet." Quickly, she kissed Flora's cheek. "Better get your thinking cap on, old girl."

* * *

Edith easily found the advertisement Veronica had been talking about, and sent a letter of application the next morning. A reply came by the afternoon post the following day, inviting her to an interview. Edith sighed in relief as she read it through: if only she could secure this position, her problems would be solved. She would be away from Locksley, for good and proper, away from Sir Anthony, with his hypocrisy and his lack of honour… and his smiles that still had the power to melt her insides into a puddle. Oh, yes, she _truly_ needed to get away now, before her resolve weakened any further, and she ended up ruined again.

His secretary's news burst in on Anthony quite suddenly the following morning. Mrs Crawley rested five immaculately typed letters on his desk and announced, "I have an interview for a new position, next week." At his lifted eyebrows, she added, "There's a girls' school in Somerset where the headmistress is looking for a secretary. She's very advanced - they sent five girls to Oxford last year. She even has a doctorate in Ancient Greek."

Silence. Edith wondered why she had felt it necessary to expand on that initial statement at all. At length, Sir Anthony replied, "It sounds perfect. Surrounded by children and educated women? You'll be in your element."

"Yes," Edith admitted, "I rather think I will." There was a flicker of a smile, which Anthony began to return, but then she stepped back and the smile died, and she added, somewhat coldly, "The interview is next Tuesday."

"You'll want to go down the day before, I would have thought."

"Yes. If it can be arranged. It's rather a long way to travel."

"Of course." He nodded. "Good."

Edith waited by his desk. Almost impatiently, he looked up. "I've drafted an advertisement for my job." One slim hand pointed out an additional slip of paper, resting atop his typed correspondence. "I thought you ought to approve it. Really, it should have been arranged before now."

Anthony glanced down at it:

_Secretary, male: required for estate business, accounts and archiving. Locksley Hall, nr. Ripon, Yorkshire._

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Male?" Edith did not reply, only looked steadily at him until his mouth quirked bitterly. "Ah, of course. I am not to be trusted with the reputations of any more impressionable young ladies."

"No," Edith answered, blunt and brief.

Sir Anthony shook his head and then handed the advertisement back to her. "Very well. Have it posted, Mrs Crawley."

"Very good, Sir Anthony."

* * *

"Richard?"

He looked up from his desk and blinked tiredly at the sight of his wife - hair loose down her back, swathed in only a very thin nightgown - hovering in the study doorway. The light from the hallway shone through it, making it almost transparent, leaving nothing whatsoever to the imagination. Richard grimaced and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. How long had it been, now, since they had last…? _Damn_ Mary. The minx knew _precisely_ what she was doing.

"What is it?" He focused on his paperwork, to try and dull the ache between his legs.

Silence, save the hiss of soft fabric brushing the floor as she stepped closer, until she was standing directly in front of the desk, in his line of sight again. "I - Aren't you coming to bed?"

"Too much to do." _What time was it anyway? _Despite his assertion, he set aside his pen. "I'll try not to wake you going through to the dressing room."

He heard a strange noise in Mary's throat, as if she were suppressing a sob. _Ridiculous_. Mary made a point of never crying.

"You don't have to carry on sleeping there, you know." A pause, and she added, as if confessing to some great weakness, "I - I rather find that I miss you."

"Do you, indeed?"

He sounded almost bored. Another sob caught in Mary's throat. Had she really pushed him so far away that she would never be able to get him back?

Since George had been born, things had… cooled somewhat between her and Matthew. He had been meant to come down to London the previous week, but he had written to cancel. And, in all honesty, she had been _relieved_. This time away from him had made so very many things clear - not least of which was that she was still very much in love - and in _lust_ \- with her husband.

Richard was sensible and clever. They were partners, _equals_. He didn't believe that she needed coddling or fussing over - a habit of Matthew's that had always irritated her. And recently… well, she had missed that way that they had of working together - solving problems, _fixing _things. She missed his hand squeezing hers, the _I know I can rely on you, darling_'s, the sense of satisfaction when their little team of two came out on top. She missed the smugness he had about him when he took her to bed, loving her so well that it seemed that he knew her own body better than she did.

In any case, whatever Matthew did or did not feel for Lavinia, she knew now that the situation was utterly different for her and Richard. She had walked in the grass on the other side, and it most certainly had _not_ been greener. All she wanted now was to put all of that silly nonsense behind her and look to the future.

"_Yes._" She stepped closer, sliding round the desk and knelt beside him, her hand curving over his thigh. "Please, Richard. I want you."

He snorted derisively. "Really? We don't talk properly for months - I can hardly do a thing right… but as soon as you get a little itchy, you'll forgive and forget?"

"I've been a beast. I know I have." Mary shrugged, with a sense of defeat that surprised him. "There's no law that says you can't be cross when you bed me, you know."

To her surprise, he huffed out a laugh. "You mightn't enjoy _that_ much, you know."

Mary's hand brushed lightly along his thigh, making his head drop back against the top of his chair. "How do you know, if you won't try?" she teased quietly.

Suddenly, they were both smiling - shyly, bashfully, the way they had done on their wedding night. "Damn you," Richard muttered, and buried his hand in her hair.

Mary leant into his touch, closing her eyes, letting him pull her up into a rough, open-mouthed kiss. She slid onto his lap, and felt his hand tugging the skirt of her nightgown up, his fingers clinging hard to her thigh. "_God_, I've missed you," he whispered desperately. He sounded twenty years younger and lost with it. "God, Mary - I love you - "

Mary clung to him, arms tight around his neck, burying her tears of love and regret and guilt into his broad, sturdy shoulder. "I love you too," she whispered - and meant it.

* * *

Afterwards, Richard heaved himself to his feet - Mary's long limbs wrapped around him - staggered the few steps to the sofa and sank them down onto it, tugging at the blanket from the back of it to cover them. "Aren't we going to bed?" Mary asked sleepily into his shoulder.

Richard shook his head. "Don't think my old legs will carry us that far, darling. You can slum it for one night, can't you?"

Mary lifted her head from his chest briefly, the blanket slipping from her bare shoulders a little. "You said that to me when you brought me to this house after our wedding," she observed, a touch of dry amusement in her voice.

He huffed out a laugh, as Mary continued, "Half the rooms were still unfurnished, you didn't even have a cook, and there was a hole in the roof."

"It was a work-in-progress," he protested, kissing her hair. "_We_ were a work-in-progress." He tugged the blanket more firmly around them. "Mary… if you ever regretted me… if you ever regretted taking me on…"

Her hands tightened around him. "I don't."

"But if you ever did…"

"Well, that's by the by, isn't it?" she whispered. "I wouldn't… Richard, I'd never abandon you." There was a moment of silence and then, as if she had realised that she had slipped too far into sentimentality, she added, coolly, "You'd never manage without me, you know. I'd be a monster to make you…"


	56. Goodbye

"But I still don't understand why you'd want to go and work in a school full of silly _girls_!" Pip protested for what felt like the hundredth time. He was sitting on the end of Edith's bed, forlornly watching her pack her suitcase for the following day's trip down to Somerset.

Edith chuckled dryly. "I'm a girl, too, Pip," she pointed out.

"Yes, but not a _silly_ one - all clothes and giggling and squeaking at the sight of spiders!" Pip rolled his eyes.

Edith tweaked his nose. "You're being horrid, my dear, and I don't like it."

"Am not," Pip muttered sulkily.

Shutting the suitcase, Edith sank down onto the bed next to him. "I don't even know if they're going to offer me the job yet, Pip."

"But they _will_!" Pip retorted, as if it were the worst thing on Earth, and snuggled into the arm Edith offered. "And then you'll leave and Papa will be all sulky and growly like he was after Mama died and - "

"Darling Pip," Edith sighed, "I think you're _vastly _overestimating the influence I have on your father." She kissed the top of his head and Pip suddenly burst into shuddering tears, burying his face into her blouse. Edith held him tight, lips still pressed against his hair. "Wherever I go, however far away I am, my darling… you know that it won't change anything between you and me. I'll _always_ love you. I promise. And there are always letters."

Pip clung more tightly to her. "But it won't be the same! You won't be here when we need you."

Edith had no answer for that. Deep down, she knew Pip was right. But what other solution did she have?

Mrs Dale edged into the room. "Mr Stewart says we'd best put your case in the car now, Mrs Crawley, if it's all packed. Less to do in the morning that way, with you having such an early start." Catching sight of Pip, her face melted into an expression of sympathy. "Come on, Master Pip, no use sobbing all over the place." As she spoke, she winced, her hand going to her back. Edith noticed that there were beads of sweat on her forehead. "Pip, darling, carry my case down for me, would you?"

Pip dashed away the last of his tears from his cheeks and lifted the case, trudging despondently from the room. Edith touched Mrs Dale's arm. "Are you quite all right, Mrs Dale?"

"Fit as a flea!" she returned immediately. "Mrs Crawley, I'm the sort that's never ill."

Still Edith frowned anxiously at her. "Perhaps I should postpone my interview - make sure there's someone here to look after you."

"I don't need looking after!" exclaimed Mrs Dale. "Less of your cheek, thank you, my girl." She shook her head. "Now, off downstairs with you for dinner."

"Mrs Dale…"

"Go on." Mrs Dale shooed her towards the door. "Food'll be getting cold."

Doubtfully, glancing back over her shoulder several times, Edith went.

With a loud exhalation of breath, Mrs Dale sank down onto the bed, eyes closed.

* * *

"So, Miss Crawley…" Dr Robinson looked at Edith over her thin, gold-rimmed spectacles. "What _exactly_ do you think you could offer our establishment?"

Edith swallowed and took a nervous gulp of water. Veronica had said her old headmistress was terrifying, but somehow Edith hadn't been expecting someone so direct and stern. Sat there in front of her, she felt twelve years old and scruffy. Resisting the urge to check her hair or skirt, Edith answered.

"I'm… efficient. Organised."

"So your reference says." Dr Robinson frowned down at it. "Ripon. Hmm."

"Yes, Dr Robinson."

She looked up again, those startlingly sharp grey eyes boring into Edith's. "The family estate of an ex-pupil of mine is near there, that's all. You may know of her. Veronica Orton."

Edith blushed. "Veronica taught me to drive, Dr Robinson."

Was that the hint of a smile on the older woman's lips? A dry one, certainly, but a smile nonetheless. "Why does that not surprise me, Miss Crawley?" She shook her head. "Veronica and I had… several memorable discussions in this room while she was a pupil here. It is… rather reassuring to learn that she has not lost any of her spirit."

Edith smiled. Perhaps Dr Robinson wasn't so terrifying after all.

"Well, Miss Crawley, I'm perfectly happy to offer you the job, if you would like it. It'll be more work than you may be used to, but I have a feeling that you'll pass muster. The only thing is… if you were to take up the position, I would like you to start as soon as possible. Preferably immediately, in fact."

"I-immediately? As in… _now_?"

"That," Dr Robinson returned somewhat severely, "is what the word _immediately_ in general means, my dear Miss Crawley."

"Yes, o-of course, Dr Robinson." Edith took a breath. "I…will have to telephone to Locksley for my things and - and confirm with Sir Anthony that he does not need me to work out any more of my notice. But… I don't imagine that there will be any great difficulty." There were only two suitcases, after all. And Sir Anthony, she imagined, would want her out of his house as soon as possible. The thought of what Pip would say and do when he found out that she had left without saying goodbye in person gave her momentary pause, but Edith ruthlessly hardened her heart. It would be far easier for Pip to recover if they did not drag the whole thing out any longer than necessary. Yes, this would be better for everyone concerned.

* * *

"Mrs Crawley?" Sir Anthony's voice was weary as he answered the telephone. Stewart must have told him who was on the line. "How was your interview?"

"Very positive. Dr Robinson has offered me the job."

There was a crackle as he exhaled down the line. "Congratulations." But he did not sound congratulatory at all. In fact, he sounded thoroughly miserable. "When shall we expect you back at Locksley?"

"That's my reason for telephoning, actually, sir." Edith hesitated. "Dr Robinson would like me to start immediately. Given that I've already provided ample notice of my intention to leave your employ, I wonder if you'd allow me to… just stay on here. Would Mrs Dale or - or Molly mind having my things packed and sent on? There isn't much."

"No. I mean, of course, that's perfectly reasonable. Most probably the best course of action for all concerned, under the circumstances." His voice sounded very hollow. Another heavy sigh. "Will you speak to Pip? He's doing his prep."

"Y-yes." She sounded much more fragile than he had been expecting. "All right."

There was silence and then Pip's voice asked in a rush, "Hello? Mrs C.? When are you coming home?"

"I - Pip, darling…" Edith's voice cracked. "Well, my dear… I've got the job."

"Oh." Pip was silent for a moment, and then he asked, "Wh-when do you have to leave?"

"That's the thing, Pip. My new employer… wants me to start straight away." She paused, and then rushed on, "So… your papa and I have agreed that I'm just going to stay on here and… Mrs Dale is going to send my things on to me."

"You - you aren't coming _back_? Not at _all_?" Pip's voice was tiny.

"I'm sorry," Edith whispered. "I… didn't plan for it to happen like this. I'll… send you my address. Write to me _whenever_ you like, my darling." She could feel the tears welling in her eyes. "Can you put your papa back on the line, please, Pip?"

"Yes. G-goodbye, Mrs C."

"Goodbye, Pip."

"Mrs Crawley?"

"Sir Anthony."

"I've spoken to Mrs Dale about your clothes and other things." His voice was brusque and taut. "She'll arrange it at once."

"Good. Thank you." Edith wanted to say so many things to him, but now the moment had come, it was all perfectly impossible. Instead, she settled for the practical. "I… I don't think I'll be able to telephone Lady Gervas, or Veronica. I'll write, of course, but - "

"I'll explain the situation," he interrupted.

"Excellent. Well… that's all I telephoned for." She hesitated. What did one say to a person one _loved_ so much, and _hated_ so much at the same time? There was only thing to _be_ said, she supposed. "Goodbye, Sir Anthony."

"Goodbye, Mrs Crawley. Good luck."

Anthony set the telephone down before she could reply and then Pip was in his arms, sobbing - sobbing so hard that Anthony did not think he would ever stop.


	57. Crying Over Spilt Milk

**AN: Thank you all for your continuing support of this fic! I especially loved the 'Edith's a hypocrite' club that formed in the comments for the last chapter (and totally agree with you!) - and hopefully, you'll enjoy certain moments in this chapter...**

* * *

_Dearest Edith,_

_I know you're hoping that I'll support you and say that you did absolutely the right thing, but you need to know right from the off that quite frankly, I think you've behaved like a beast._

_For one thing, you've no idea what __actually__ happened. All right, so he says he went to bed with her - plenty of brides get to the altar not necessarily qualified to wear white. He married her, didn't he? From what you've said, they were very happy together. Not all men are manipulative boors, you know, and I never thought Sir Anthony was anything other than a gentleman._

_Look at the facts, darling. He let you go haring off to London without a backward glance when I was in prison, came visiting when he thought you were struggling, sent gifts, helped Tom and me - and, when asked, was thoroughly honest about something that was never going to put him in your good books. Rather a lot of energy expended just for the vague chance of (pardon the vulgarity) getting under your skirts. No man's devious enough to try that, least of all Anthony Strallan._

_I hate to say it, but you, my dear sister, are a __hypocrite__. When he found out about you and the Sketch's Louse-in-Chief (yes, that's what we're calling him these days), he was the model of kindness and decency. He knew you so little, Edith, and he never once expressed any kind of doubt over your character._

_I suppose what I'm trying to ask is: what was your excuse?_

_Anyway, it's too late now to go crying over spilt milk. I just hope that you're feeling suitably ashamed of the way you treated that poor boy, if nothing else. When it comes to children, Edith, I don't think adults have any rights to their own feelings - especially not when they're dealing with a child who's already lost so much. You say it would have been agony for both of you to say goodbye in person, but nothing worth doing was ever __easy__._

_Isn't there any way you can try to fix things, darling? I don't mean going back to Locksley - not if it isn't what you want - but there aren't many truly good people in this world, and we don't find true friends all that often either, and it would be a shame if you lost Sir Anthony's friendship over something so trivial and silly._

_At least think about it?_

_All my love,_

_Sybil xxx_

Edith tried to roll her eyes upon reading Sybil's letter, but deep down, she knew that her little sister was right - about _her_ behaviour, at least. She _had_ treated Pip shabbily. She had been selfish and thoughtless and high-minded, too - the latter not at all in a positive way. Even before Sybil's letter had arrived, Edith had realised that, and had begun to regret it.

The new job was well enough. Dr Robinson ran a _very_ tight ship - her staff were forerunners in their field, with high expectations for their students, and the girls - from the grubbiest first-former to the most studious sixth-former - were polite and pleasant to be around, even if they could not compete with a certain mischievous and noisy twelve-year-old of her acquaintance.

She was busy, anyway, which was a godsend in her current frame of mind. The Bursar was getting old and absent-minded, and Dr Robinson had quietly pulled Edith aside at the end of her second week and suggested that she could be of use in terms of accounts and scholarship payments; she had been placed in charge of writing to potential donors regarding new equipment required for the Science laboratory (Edith smiled faintly as she typed the one addressed to Veronica); and in addition to that, there were all the other jobs required of any person working in any sort of administrative capacity in a school: the managing of the calendar, the organising of hundreds of people and their timetables, and (that particular specialty of school secretaries the world over) the hard, disapproving stare meted out to those rare miscreants unfortunate enough to be called to the Head's office.

She arrived at her desk early, and stayed late. On her afternoons off, Edith took long walks into the countryside around the school, or else wandered down to the beach and swam in the private cove. She knew full well what she was doing, of course - she could not even trick herself: desperately, she was trying to drown her misery and guilt and unhappiness in lungfuls of fresh air.

Dimly, Edith wondered when it would begin to work.

* * *

Veronica scowled and shoved the two sheets of headed paper across the breakfast table at Flora. "I _hate_ these things," she confided with a shake of her head.

Flora scanned down the top sheet with a critical eye. "Miss V. Orton and guest - oh, goody… Founders' Day celebrations… distinguished alumna… " Grinning at Veronica, she asked, "What distinguishes you, I wonder?"

Veronica rolled her eyes, pouring more coffee for them both. "About thirty thousand pounds and hundreds of rolling acres, one imagines. I saw Edith's sly note about supplies for the new lab, don't you worry!"

"Well, at least it'll be nice to see her," Flora consoled her, setting the letters aside. Veronica's face took on an expression of abject horror.

"You don't mean to say that you want us to _go_?!" Veronica spoke as if Flora were suggesting that they set fire to the house.

Patiently, Flora took a sip of her coffee. "Of course I do, darling," she replied sweetly. "Don't you _ever_ go to these things?"

"No," Veronica answered shortly. "I prefer to forget that I ever set foot in that place."

Flora squeezed her hand fondly. "At least you had a proper education, darling. All I got was French and twice-weekly singing lessons."

"I'd have taken that over geometry and Ancient Greek any day!" protested Veronica. "All I ever wanted to do was to ride and swim - but Papa was insistent that I get that 'proper education.'" She shrugged her shoulders. "He just couldn't accept the idea that his only child wasn't ever going to make any sort of scholar."

"Ah," Flora nodded. "Well, that explains things, I suppose." At Veronica's faintly questioning look, she stood and came to hug Veronica around the shoulders. "If I had ever lived somewhere where I was always being told that I wasn't good enough, then I wouldn't particularly want to go back there either. But… " (she kissed the top of Veronica's head) "…perhaps new laboratory equipment would make life just a little bit more bearable for the current inmates? Perhaps some sports' equipment too? Hockey sticks or lacrosse balls… or whatever else they need? Just to prove that you've not turned all respectable in your old age?"

"All right," Veronica replied grumpily. "If you insist."

"I _do_ insist, darling. And it'll give us the opportunity to check up on Edith and make sure that we don't need to - to do anything drastic."

"Like what?"

"Like tell her how miserable Sir Anthony has been since she left."

"_That's_ your idea of drastic?" wondered Veronica.

"It is when I'm not supposed to know." Flora sighed. "I love Claudia dearly, but she can be an incorrigible gossip."

Veronica squeezed her hip in sympathy. "She's just worried about the fool, I suppose." Tiredly, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I wish I'd not mentioned that blasted job at all to her now. I never in a million years thought she'd take it, though!"

"We gambled and we lost, my love," Flora murmured softly. "It happens. I suppose… if Edith looks as unhappy as Anthony does… then… we'll fill her in."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then we must just let her… move on with her life - and hope Anthony's heart mends sooner rather than later…"

* * *

"So you let her go." Lady Strallan, newly arrived from London, shook her head and took a sip of tea. "Poor, darling Anthony."

"Well, I couldn't exactly stop her, could I? The days of serfdom are over."

"You could have done _precisely_ that," his mother replied, rather sharply, "if only you'd told her the truth."

"What _truth_, Mama?" Anthony lurched up from his chair and paced to the fireplace and back. "That I was… oh, how did Papa phrase it?" His lip curled faintly. "Ah, yes: 'a disgrace to my family and my rank'?"

"Your Papa loved you," Nancy reminded him softly. "And you know he bitterly regretted ever saying those things to you."

"Not nearly as much as I regretted doing what forced him to say them in the first place."

Nancy rolled her eyes downwards towards her teacup. "The problem with you two was always that you were so alike. You've no idea how much of a relief it was when I realised that Pip would take after Maude."

Her son smiled briefly, sadly, his eyes closed. "He's her mirror image, isn't he?"

"He certainly wears his heart on his sleeve. Which is more than can be said for _you_, my lad." Nancy shook her head in exasperation. "Oh, Anthony. What _am_ I going to do with you, hmm?"

Anthony opened one eye, shooting his mother a rather severe look. "I'm not nine years old any more, Mama."

"More's the pity." Nancy tutted. "When you _were_, I could still put you over my knee and switch your backside when you were being ridiculous."

"Thank you, Mama."

"Is Mrs Crawley really such an - an unforgiving young woman?" Lady Strallan asked eventually.

"No." Anthony's voice grew quieter. "But… she has reason enough to despise men who behave poorly towards women."

Lady Strallan raised an eyebrow. "There's a story there, my dear. Help me to understand?"

"She… when she came to us… it was because she had had an affair with her former employer - her former _married_ employer." Anthony looked guiltily up at her. "She was vulnerable and grieving for her father and… well, if he didn't force her, he certainly _did_ take advantage of her. And then she miscarried his child."

One of the things Anthony loved best about his mother was how beautifully unflappable she was. Her only reaction was to exhale in understanding and say, quite sympathetically, "Ah. I see. Poor, dear child."

"Exactly. So when she discovered that her new employer was no better, she reacted as any sane woman would and told me _precisely_ where to chuck it." Bleakly, Anthony looked over at her. "So can you really blame her, Mama? Because I can't."


	58. Founders' Day

"Hello, Miss Orton," smiled Mrs Dale, a little tiredly, as she opened Locksley's front door. "What can we do for you?"

"Here to see Sir Anthony, Mrs Dale - just for five minutes. Is he about?"

Sounding slightly breathless, Mrs Dale replied, "Yes. Just through in the library. Tea, Miss Orton."

Veronica waved her hand in the negative, and strode towards the library passage. "No. Thanks, Mrs Dale!"

Outside the library door, Veronica paused; inside, she could hear Sir Anthony's voice - lowered as if he were having a private conversation, but still just about audible to someone with sharp ears. "Yes, I know, old chap - you're missing her, too. Seems a little unfair, doesn't it? At least _you_ could have gone with her."

Veronica frowned, and nudged the door open just enough to see Sir Anthony. He sat in his usual chair, addressing, of all creatures, _Buttons,_ who was curled up on his shoulder. "Still," Sir Anthony sniffed, "mustn't dwell on it, must we? I'm sure she thinks about you all the time - she must do, she asked Pip in her last letter how you were. I think I might have it somewhere here…"

Veronica saw him rummage for a moment on the desk, and then lift the letter. "Here… 'I hope Buttons is well and catching lots of mice for Mrs Cox. I miss him - and you - so very much, but I know I have left him in the best possible hands, especially since one of the teachers here has a dog whose favourite hobby is chasing cats!'" Sir Anthony scritched Buttons' neck. "So what do you think of that, then, young man? Perhaps we could send a photograph of you to her. You and Pip. She'd like that."

He sighed and Veronica saw him swipe roughly at his eyes with a handkerchief. She had seen enough. Knocking at the door, she swung it fully open and entered, hailing him loudly and cheerfully as she did so with, "Goodness, that cat has an Anthony on him!"

Her host shot her a soft, almost grudging smile and lifted Buttons down from his shoulder. "Hello, Veronica, what can we do for you? Have you been offered tea?"

Veronica waved him off and sank down into the sofa. "Oh, I'm only on a flying visit. Besides, didn't want to put Mrs Dale to any trouble - she's looking a trifle peaky, isn't she?"

Anthony lifted his eyebrows wryly. "Try saying that in her hearing, and you'll soon know about it, I promise."

Veronica huffed out a laugh. "I wouldn't dare, Anthony. Anyway, Flora and I are going down to Somerset at the weekend, and we wondered if there was anything we could take down to Edith." Anthony's expression of polite interest did not change, but Veronica noted that for a moment, his left eyelid flickered and twitched. "Messages," she piffled on lightly, "any belongings she left behind, books, notes… you know the sort of thing I mean."

"Y-yes. Of course. I was actually… thinking of sending a picture of Pip to her. He's shot up, even in the last month or so. And I'm sure there are some other odds and ends around here…" He glanced vaguely, helplessly, around him and then sighed. "I'll check with Mrs Dale and Mrs Cox. But… yes, that would be helpful."

Veronica stood up, brushing out her breeches. "Excellent. I'll pop back on Friday evening, shall I? About six? Now, must be off - I think we've someone or other important coming to lunch, and Flora will have my hide if I'm late."

Anthony gave a sad smile. "You seem to be… quite the team, these days."

Veronica squeezed his arm. "I'm sorry about Edith. I _honestly_ didn't expect her to… to go."

He shook his head. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't _anyone's_ fault apart from my own."

"You're a decent chap, Anthony," Veronica said, seriously. "And you know there's not many men I'd say that about." A faint, momentary smile curled her lips. "You're always welcome to Orton Park. If there's ever anything we can do…"

They shook hands, very formally. "Thank you, Veronica. We'll see you on Friday."

* * *

"Is everything ready, Mrs Crawley?" Dr Robinson joined Edith on the front steps. Already, cars were beginning to trundle down the long drive.

Edith, shading her eyes with one hand from the sharp winter sunlight, glanced down at the clipboard in her other arm, and nodded. "I _think_ so, Dr Robinson. The prefects are going to take small groups on tours of the new Mathematics block after your Welcome Speech." She lifted a wry eyebrow. "Dr Lewis and some of the sixth form Chemistry students are ready for demonstrations in the lab. The refreshments will be in the Dining Room from twelve o'clock onwards - a buffet, as requested, and afternoon tea later. Mr Piggett has driven the omnibus down to the station to collect visitors arriving by train, and his son is ready to show people where to park their cars - although, I don't imagine there will be very many of those…"

"In short," Dr Robinson interrupted with a thin, pleased smile, "you have everything completely in hand, and I should stop asking such thoroughly ridiculous questions. Really, you are a godsend, my dear."

Edith blushed. "Thank you, Dr Robinson. That's very kind of you."

"Miss Crawley?" Head Girl Eliza Barry hopped up the steps, her springy dark curls already escaping from her hair ribbon. "Oh, sorry, Dr Robinson."

"Not at all, Eliza."

"Miss Crawley, Sophia Waters has just been sick - I sent Fiona to find Matron, but we don't have anyone else to take her place as a tour guide - "

Edith slid a reassuring arm around her shoulders and they descended the steps together. "All right. Find me the most reliable fifth former you can, Eliza - doesn't matter if they aren't a prefect, we'll do the best we can…"

Dr Robinson watched the two walk away, her face creased in concentration. _Hmm. I suppose I need to accept the fact that it's time for Marjorie to retire. Thirty years' here, twenty as Bursar… that's enough for anyone, one would have thought. Well, Miss Crawley will be a good replacement - if only we can stop her from being so sad and serious, all of the time…_

* * *

"Flora! Veronica!" Edith squeaked in pleased surprise as her friends threw their arms around her, hugging her so tightly that she was nearly lifted from the floor. "Even when we had your reply, I wasn't entirely sure you'd come, somehow."

Veronica grinned. "Flora insisted, and I wasn't about to argue. Dr. R.'s going to get a hundred pounds' worth of lacrosse sticks out of us."

Edith raised her eyebrows. "Heavens!" Looking at Flora, she asked, dryly, "Whatever have you been feeding her on, Flora?"

Flora smiled. "Common sense, Edith. How are you?"

Edith's smile faltered momentarily, like the sun gone behind a cloud, and then reappeared before Veronica or Flora had had time to miss it. "Fine. Busy! I don't think I've slept properly in a month, what with all the organising. Come in, you're just in time for Dr Robinson's speech."

"Oh, _goody_," Veronica rolled her eyes.

"Before we forget," Flora added, as they turned to walk inside the school, "we've brought some things from Locksley." Helpfully, Veronica held up a basket.

Edith raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Really? I… I didn't think I'd left anything behind in - in Yorkshire."

Veronica nudged aside the cloth covering the basket. "Umm… a note and photograph from Pip, a couple of books - I think Mrs Cox has sent some cake…"

She pressed the basket into Edith's hands; almost unwillingly, Edith took it. "Thank you."

"Any return message, miss?" teased Veronica.

Edith forced a faint smile. "No, I don't think so. I… owe Pip a letter, anyway. There's no need to trouble yourselves. But… this was very kind of you."

"Ah, Miss Orton!" Dr Robinson's rather stern voice carried across the atrium. "Keeping the habit of a lifetime, I see."

Veronica rolled her eyes at Flora and Edith. "Hello, Dr Robinson. Wouldn't be a proper assembly if I weren't late for it, now, would it?"

Dr Robinson chuckled. "No, I don't suppose that it would be."

As Veronica and Dr Robinson entered into further conversation, Edith touched Flora's arm. "I'm just going to slip upstairs and put this away in my room."

"I'll come with you, if I may," Flora replied. "V won't notice I'm gone for the moment. After all the fuss she made about coming, and now she's here…" She shook her head fondly. "Anyway, I want to hear all your news."

Edith shrugged. "There isn't much to tell. I've been working. Found a few nice walks. Been swimming an awful lot - the sea's gorgeous."

"At this time of year?" Flora squeaked as they walked upstairs. "Edith Crawley, you must be made of coconut-matting!"

Edith unlocked her bedroom door and stood back to admit Flora, who went straight to the little garrett window and looked out. "Nice view of the sea here, though."

"Mmm, isn't it? On a clear day, you can see all along the coast." Edith set the basket down on the desk and started to empty it.

"I think it's quite as pretty as Yorkshire, in fact," Flora sighed. When Edith did not reply, she glanced around and found her friend staring at a leather-bound book she had just lifted from the basket. "Edie? Darling, what is it?"

Edith looked up at her, eyes full with tears, which she hastily swiped away. "Nothing. _Sherlock Holmes._" Shaking herself, she put the book back into the basket. "It's a mistake, that's all. Mrs Dale's got confused. I borrowed it from - from Locksley's library, once, and she's got it into her head that it's mine."

Flora frowned. "I don't think that's the case. Veronica said Sir Anthony packed all the books himself. He'd know what was his, wouldn't he?"

"Yes," Edith said, a little crossly. "He would. Can you take it back for me?"

Flora sighed. "A bit churlish, isn't it? If he intended it as a gift - "

"I don't want _anything_ from Anthony Strallan!" Edith snapped. "I… I just want to forget that I ever knew him!"

For a moment, there was silence and then Flora shrugged. "I'm sure you know best, my dear," she said complacently. "But I _will_ say that… there was a time when I felt that way about Veronica. As if I never wanted to even hear her name again, let alone have any reminder of her around me."

Edith snorted. "It's entirely different. _Veronica_ wasn't going around… _seducing_ other women behind your back."

Flora blinked. "Well… nor was Sir Anthony, was he?"

Edith was red, with anger or embarrassment Flora could not tell. All she said, however, was, "Come along, Flora. We'll miss the speeches if we don't hurry - and you can't leave Veronica to Dr Robinson's mercy for _too_ much longer now, can you?"

"No," Flora replied, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. "I suppose we can't."

* * *

"Get anything out of her?" Veronica asked in an undertone as Flora slid into the hard wooden chair next to her, right at the back of the assembly hall.

Flora pursed her lips and shook her head tightly. "She's perfectly miserable, darling, and extremely angry with Anthony. I _do_ wish he hadn't sent that book - it's rubbed her up completely the wrong way."

Veronica grimaced. "Well, we always knew he could be a dolt. Are we going to say anything to her?"

Again, Flora shook her head. "No. Best not. She won't have any sympathy with him - and I don't want her to feel that we're taking sides. I want her to be able to come to us if anything's wrong."

Veronica exhaled. "All right. Probably the sensible course of action, love."

Flora flashed her a slight smile. "Good. Then that's settled." She squeezed Veronica's hand. "We'll have a lovely afternoon with Edith, try and jolly her along a bit." She shifted uncomfortably on the chair. "No wonder you used to be late to assemblies all the time, my dear. No one would sign up for more time spent on these than absolutely necessary."

Veronica stifled a snort of laughter. "Oh, darling, it was _much_ worse than this. Can you believe that they actually used to have us all sitting cross-legged on the floor? I'm sure Dr Robinson's a sadist at heart…"

* * *

"It was_ so_ lovely to see you," Edith smiled, giving Veronica and Flora one last hug each. "And thank you so much for your donation - it's terribly generous."

"Shame," Veronica replied mischievously, "we were _trying_ to be terribly subversive."

"Safe journey back," Edith waved as Veronica put the car into gear and pulled away. The late evening breeze tugged at her hair and she wrapped her cardigan more tightly around her, shivering a little. When she got back to her room, she thought, she would curl up with a slice of Mrs Cox's fruitcake, and a nice cup of tea, and a good book.

_Book_.

The Holmes was still lying on her desk.

Edith raised her hand, and took a couple of quick steps forwards, opening her mouth to hail Veronica, make her come back, and take the blasted thing away with her - but then, as quickly as it had come, the impulse died away again.

Her hand fell slowly back to her side and Edith turned and walked back up the steps and into Rutherford House's cavernous entrance hall.


	59. Bad News

"Those letters you asked for, Sir Anthony."

Anthony looked up from his perusal of the accounts' ledger, startled still by Mr Everington's voice rather than the altogether more pleasant tones of Mrs Crawley. "Thank you, Everington. Have you heard back from the Manchester agent about last quarter's rent yet?"

Everington shook his head. "Sorry, sir. I… haven't telephoned yet. Was it particularly urgent?"

Suppressing a sigh of frustration, Anthony shook his head. "No. No. Just… get on to it this afternoon, would you?"

"Right you are, sir." Everington strolled back to his desk, humming tunelessly under his breath. As he bent his head once more to his work, Anthony heard the click of a cigarette lighter and a loud exhalation as Mr Everington began to smoke his fourth cigarette of the morning. Not that he _objected_, necessarily - after all, he was more than happy to smoke his pipe in the evenings - but… Everington was… different to what he was used to, that was all. His approach to his work was certainly more… _relaxed_ than Mrs Crawley's had been. But then again, what else was he supposed to do? Mrs Crawley wasn't coming back. He'd had to find _someone_, and even if Everington weren't all that might have been hoped for, he would learn soon enough.

Surely he would.

"Everington, could you - "

The door burst open and Stewart launched himself like a bullet from a gun into the room. "Sir, you must come quickly. It's Mrs Dale. She's… _collapsed_."

* * *

They hadn't dared to move her. Instead, Mrs Dale lay on the kitchen floor, a cushion from the armchair tucked under her head. She was still half-unconscious. From her position kneeling at her friend's side, Mrs Cox heard Sir Anthony ask Mr Stewart, in an angry undertone, "Where in God's name is that ambulance?"

"I'm sure it won't be long, sir - "

The sound of the front door bell ringing made everyone sigh with relief. Stewart headed for the kitchen door and a moment later returned, leading with him the ambulance drivers and Dr Clarkson. "Well, what's happened here?" he asked in that reassuring Scottish voice he had, the one that always reminded Mrs Cox of her long-dead mother, who had been brought up in Edinburgh.

"We were just getting the tea trays together, doctor, and then she went all pale and just… keeled over," she replied.

"I see. Any signs of illness recently? Sir Anthony?"

An expression of guilt passed over the master's face; inwardly Mrs Cox clucked her tongue in sympathy. No wonder he hadn't noticed, poor man. He'd had _more_ than enough on his mind of late. "Tiredness. A little breathlessness. Some - some dizziness, I think?" Sir Anthony looked as if for help at Stewart and Mrs Cox.

"And she's been complaining of a pain in her back, recently. Her arm, this morning, too," Mrs Cox put in helpfully.

Stewart nodded in agreement, making the doctor frown. "In that case, I'm afraid that it sounds very much like a heart attack - "

"Oh my Lord!" exclaimed Mrs Cox.

" - which is why it's _very_ important for us to get Mrs Dale to hospital as soon as humanly possible," Dr Clarkson finished firmly, taking masterful control of the situation.

Mrs Cox got to her feet, a determined look on her face. "Then I'll get out from under your feet, doctor."

"I'll go in the ambulance with her, if that's permitted, Clarkson," she heard Sir Anthony add as she hurried down the kitchen passage.

The hall was empty, the telephone sitting on its side-table. Mrs Cox squared her shoulders, marched over to it, and picked it up. "Operator? I want a trunk call to Rutherford House School, Somerset. Yes, _Somerset_ \- and if you're not sharp about it, Dilys Lane, then I shall be having words with your mother!"

* * *

Edith shivered as she climbed the front steps back into the school. She'd towelled herself off as best as she could on the beach, and it was not a _terribly_ cold day, but with November melting into December, she had to admit that this would probably have to be her last swim of the year.

"Mrs Crawley!" Matron's voice greeted her warmly as Edith dripped into the hall. "Oh good, you're back - there's someone on the telephone for you."

"The telephone? For me? Whoever…" Edith sighed. "Thank you, Matron. I'll go up and take it at once."

Matron raised her eyebrows in obvious disapproval. "And then get yourself in front of a fire and into some dry clothes. I've got a horrid suspicion that Georgia Murphy's coming down with the measles, so I _don't_ need you catching a chill just now, thank you."

"Of course, Matron." Edith ducked her head with a sheepish grin. "Message received and understood."

In her office, Edith picked up the telephone, stretching out her hand to grab the poker and stoke up her little fire as she did so. "Hello, Edith Crawley speaking."

"Oh, thank God!" came Mrs Cox's familiar tones, a little broken by distance and poor weather. A sigh of relief crackled down the line.

"Mrs Cox, whatever - "

"No time for quest - " Mrs Cox's voice was dropping in and out. Inwardly, Edith cursed. This line had been the bane of her existence, it seemed, for the last few months. "Mrs Dale… Sir Anthony… ill… Clarkson… heart attack."

A leaden ball of terror thunked into Edith's gut.

"_What_? Sir Anthony has - that's _impossible_, Mrs Cox!"

"Come… worried… quickly." The line crackled again, a blizzard of white noise utterly obscuring whatever else Mrs Cox had intended to say.

"Mrs Cox? _Mrs Cox?!_"

The line died. "Damn!" Edith cursed and slammed the receiver down, standing up again without conscious thought. Every nerve ending in her whole body seemed to be jumping and frizzing with fright. She didn't know what to do first. Pack a bag? Tell Dr Robinson? Try to telephone Locksley again? Look up the trains?

Her decision was made for her by an authoritative knock at the door, followed by the entrance of Dr Robinson herself. "Ah, Miss Crawley - do take a seat," she said, quite as if she were in her own office.

That voice was not one which was often argued with. Unsteadily, Edith sank back into her chair. "Y-yes, Dr Robinson. I - "

"Now," Dr Robinson interrupted, taking the seat nearest the fireplace, "you know Miss George will be retiring at the end of term?"

"Y-yes?" Edith replied. If her mind had been less occupied by what she had just heard, she might have wondered quite where this conversation was going.

"Well, then, would you consider taking on the role of Bursar when she does leave?"

For a moment, there was a stunned silence, as Edith tried to force herself to speak. It was as if her mind were one of the rocks out to sea along the coast here, suddenly being swamped by wave after enormous wave - all she could do was wait for the deluge to be over. "You - you want to promote me?" she managed at length.

"Yes."

"I - " Edith began, and then stopped.

"Yes, Miss Crawley?" Dr Robinson prompted, in a gentler tone of voice than Edith was used to hearing from her.

"I've just had a telephone call," Edith found herself saying. "From - from Locksley."

Dr Robinson blinked. "From Sir Anthony Strallan?"

"No. I - the line was very bad. I - I fear he may be v-very ill."

"And what has that to do with you?" Dr Robinson's face creased with a confused frown. "You no longer work for him."

"No. I know." Edith fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. "But… but he may… _need_ me."

Dr Robinson lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. "My dear Miss Crawley, might I be brutally honest for a moment?"

"Of course, Dr Robinson."

"You must make a decision," said Dr Robinson, "here and now, as to whether you wish to make something _successful_ of your life, or to go _crawling_ back to this man, with no hope of a job, a home - of anything." Dr Robinson frowned. "I know which I would choose."

Edith swallowed. "I'm sure you do, Dr Robinson. But… but I think we are very different women."

"Are we indeed?"

"Yes," Edith trembled. "I… I have no great intellect, Dr Robinson, no vaulting ambitions. I only know that - that I must go where I am needed, and right now… that is Locksley."


	60. Northbound

She walked into town - _marched_, really - carrying a suitcase in each hand, her coat flowing out behind her, like the wings of an avenging angel.

What if he were badly hurt? What if they had not managed to get him into hospital in time? What if he were - ?

_No_.

She refused to think about that possibility. There was no way in which a world without Anthony Strallan could exist. She would not allow it.

There were no trains direct to York - she would have to change at Birmingham - but at least she was on her way, Edith thought as she settled into her seat on the train. There was a book in her bag, but Edith didn't even think of reaching for it - nothing, she thought, would be able to distract her this afternoon.

At some point, exhaustion swallowed her, pulling her into a maelstrom where Pip's tears blurred with Mrs Cox's recriminations and where odd phrases from Sybil's last letter whirled around her head like a murder of angry black crows.

She woke with a jump in the dark, as the train slowed and stopped. Her mouth was dry and coated and one of her hairpins was digging into her skull. Reaching up a hand slow with sleep, Edith readjusted it and sat up straight in her seat, checking her watch. Surely they couldn't be at Birmingham already?

Footsteps in the passage, and then the guard's head poked in and said, somewhat apologetically, "All passengers to alight, I'm afraid, miss. Bridge has collapsed up ahead."

"Where are we?" Edith asked, dismayed. "I'm trying to get to York!"

The guard lifted sympathetic eyebrows. "Just at Wolverhampton, miss. There'll be no trains further on tonight, I wouldn't have thought. P'raps as you can ask at the station to use a telephone."

Edith murmured noncommittally, gathering her things together, and then joined the throng of people crowding onto the cold station platform. Edith shivered and tugged her coat around her a little more closely. Collaring a porter, Edith asked, "Have you a telephone here?"

"Ar, miss - one at the booking office."

"Thank you."

* * *

"Telephone for you, madam," Baines announced, sidling around the library door. "Miss Crawley, calling from Wolverhampton."

Incredulously, Veronica echoed, "_Wolverhampton_? What the _devil_ is she doing in Wolverhampton?"

Flora sighed patiently, and set aside her book. "Well, I'm sure poor Baines doesn't know, my dear. Thank you, Baines, we'll be through directly."

Baines directed a grateful bow towards the second of his mistresses, and retreated from the room. Veronica and Flora followed him.

"Hello? Edie?"

"Oh, thank the Lord!" came Edith's voice down the line. "The train was halted - a damned bridge has collapsed - I need to get to Yorkshire and - "

"All right, all right," Veronica soothed her. "Slow down, old girl, and tell me everything from the beginning." Flora's hand tugged the earpiece a little more between them. "Flora's listening in, too."

"G-good." Edith sounded on the verge of frustrated tears. "I had a telephone call today from Mrs Cox. Apparently - " There was a crackle as she tried to suppress a sob. "Apparently Sir Anthony has - has had a heart attack."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Flora; Veronica saw that she had gone quite white.

"Yes," Edith rushed on before they could add anything further. "Obviously I'm on my way home, but the blasted trains aren't going any further. I don't suppose you know anyone who could - could lend me a car or - _oh, Veronica, he can't die before I get to him!_"

Veronica looked helplessly at Flora. "Edith - "

Very firmly, Flora tugged the speaker out of Veronica's hand. "Edith, darling, I have a friend who lives about a half an hour outside of Wolverhampton. I'm going to telephone her and do everything I can to persuade her to assist, all right? I just need you to wait very calmly at the station. I'll telephone again in about twenty minutes, yes? Yes, all right, goodbye. And please try not to worry!"

"Who's your friend?" Veronica asked.

"Winifred Dalton," Flora replied briskly over her shoulder. "She's a suffragist - we shared a governess when we were little. Her husband's something industrial - he's _bound_ to have a car he can lend."

"To a friend of a friend of his wife's?" wondered Veronica doubtfully.

Flora flapped a hand, lifting the receiver again. "He'd walk over hot coals if Winifred asked him to, don't worry… Operator? Yes…"

* * *

"Who was it, Win?" Charles Dalton asked, looking up from the book he was reading to their small daughter.

Winifred dropped a kiss onto the top of his head. "Flora Stanhope. Friend of hers is stuck at the station, trying to get to York. No trains, apparently."

"York? Goodness. That's rather a long way away, isn't it, Dora?" he asked their little one quietly.

Dora, all of three, babbled sleepily. "Yes," Winifred agreed. "Look, Charles, we can send the car over, can't we? According to Flora, Edith's a terribly safe driver, and it's _urgent_. Her man's had a heart attack and she needs to get to him."

"Her husband?" Charles tutted. "Poor girl."

"Not quite, I don't think - Flora wasn't terribly clear. I'm going to ask Wakefield to get the car ready."

Charles stood, hoisting Dora into his one arm. "Yes, of course. I'll go and talk to Mrs Hartwell - if your friend is driving all the way to York, she'll need strong tea and some good food."

Winifred squeezed his hand tightly. "Angel." Briefly, she touched Dora's cheek. "Isn't your Daddy _marvellous_, darling?" she whispered softly.

* * *

Mrs Dalton's chauffeur was very cheerful - extraordinarily so, considering the lateness of the hour, and the fact that the weather was most definitely taking a turn for the worse. "Our cook, Mrs Hartwell's, put a flask of tea in the front seat well for you, miss, and a pack of sarnies - er, sandwiches, too."

"Thank you," Edith whispered, brought to tears again. "It's very kind of you. Would you like me to drive you back to the Daltons' before I go on to York?"

"Nah, reckon I'll be all right, miss." He winked broadly. "Besides, pubs aren't closed yet."

Edith giggled wetly. "Right."

"Safe journey, miss." He tipped his hat, tucked his hands into his pockets and wandered off, whistling.

Edith watched him go for a few moments, exhaled, and then slid into the driver's seat. "Right," she repeated quietly to herself, put the car into gear, and pulled away.

* * *

"That was Winifred," Flora sighed in relief, sinking back down onto the sofa. "Her chauffeur has just arrived home - he met Edith, and handed the car over, and she should be well on her way now."

Veronica squeezed her hand. "Good. Lucky you've such a wide social circle, darling."

Flora sniffled and Veronica suddenly realised that she was crying. "Here… darling, whatever is it?"

Flora curled up and buried her face into Veronica's shoulder. "I j-just f-feel so _awful_. Poor Edith - poor _Anthony_! What if he - "

Veronica held her close. "Now, just you listen to me. Anthony's a tough old bird if ever there was one, and there's no reason to suppose that he won't pull through. And you've been such a tremendous help to Edith, my darling."

Flora swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "V, if anything _ever_ happened to _you_, I couldn't bear it."

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Veronica promised softly. "We're all all right. I promise."

"It's no use looking at me like that, Mr Stewart," Mrs Cox said firmly, setting another cup of tea down in front of him. "You know as well as I do that we're all going to be at sixes and sevens for the next few days at least, and there's no one so good in a crisis as Mrs Crawley is."

Stewart gave her a doubtful look. "But _that_ isn't why you telephoned her. Just when we've got the master sleeping again, too. I don't want him… shaken up again. And we've Mr Everington now."

Mrs Cox snorted darkly. "Oh, yes. Mr Everington who can't make a telephone call without being told to. Mr Everington who leaves cigarette ash all over the library carpet. Mr Everington who - "

She was interrupted by an almost frantic pounding at the front door, and then a ringing as if someone were positively hanging on the bell. Despite his earlier words, there was an expression of wordless relief on Stewart's face as he and Mrs Cox rose and hurried to answer it together.

Mrs Crawley, pale faced and looking thoroughly chilled, tumbled into the hall. "Wh-where is he?" she asked, without preamble.

"He went in the ambulance to York General Infirmary - " began Mrs Cox, but got no further. Mrs Crawley whirled around again, and returned to the car, whose ignition she had not bothered to turn off. The car whizzed away down the drive again.

Thoughtfully, Stewart closed the door after her. "Mrs Cox," he began, hesitantly, "you don't think… well, you were quite clear that it was _Mrs Dale_ who was sick, weren't you?"

"Yes, certainly!" Mrs Cox retorted, half-indignantly. She paused, a slight frown crossing her face. "Although… well, it _was_ a little odd, the way she phrased it, wasn't it? 'Where is _he_?'" She shrugged. "Anyway, she's here, which is all that really matters, I suppose." A shadow crossed her face. "I just wish we'd hear _something_…"

* * *

"Can I help you?" The matron spoke in the tones of one about to explode.

Edith flicked a messy, loose curl out of her eyes and recalled that, after hours of travelling, she probably did not look terribly respectable. "Yes," she replied, nonetheless. "I'm looking for a patient you have here, who was brought in with a heart attack. Sir Anthony Strallan."

The matron frowned and scanned down her list of patients. "I'm afraid - "

From behind her, Edith heard a polite cough and turned.

Sir Anthony Strallan stood there, one hand in his trouser pocket, looking faintly confused.

"Here I am," he said.

* * *

**AN: This chapter is named after the song 'Northbound' by Grace Petrie, particularly for the chorus:**

**_By night and day _**

**_By motorway _**

**_I'll get there any godforsaken way _**

**_By road or rail _**

**_By sea to sail _**

**_If there's a way home I won't fail _**

**_I'll take my time _**

**_Steady 70 straight down the line_**

**_ Only one thing on my mind _**

**_Hell or high water come down_**

**_Oh I'm northbound_**


	61. Walking On Eggshells

"You're - you're - " Edith swallowed. "You aren't dead."

Anthony blinked and looked down at himself. "Not as far as I know, no. Hello, Mrs Crawley."

"_Don't_," she bit out. "Don't - don't you _dare_ stand there and joke when I - when I thought you were - ! _I thought you might be - "_

Suddenly, she swayed, crumpled at the knees - and swooned.

* * *

When Edith awoke, it was to Sir Anthony's face looking very anxiously down at her. She was lying across three of the waiting room chairs, and he was kneeling beside her, eyes intent. "Wh-what happened?" she mumbled, closing her eyes again briefly to shut out the sight of him.

"You fainted." Sir Anthony helped her to sit up slowly, presenting her with a cup of tea. Someone had thoughtfully put two biscuits in the saucer. "There. Hot, strong, plenty of sugar." At Edith's wrinkled nose, he apologised, "I know you don't like your tea sweet, but the matron was threatening to find you a bed if I didn't promise to make you drink it the moment you woke up. I thought you'd like _that _even less."

"Yes," Edith agreed numbly, and drank her tea. "Quite right." Truly, this was the most _absurd_ conversation she had ever had with anyone. It was impossible to believe that she was awake, that her brain - in the face of his almost certain death - had not just carried her away into the safety of insanity.

"You came terribly quickly," Sir Anthony murmured, breaking into her reverie. His voice was soft and hesitant, like a child awaiting a scolding. "Did Mrs Cox telephone you?" His kind smile sank into her bones like warm water. "Mrs Dale is very lucky, to have a friend as diligent as you."

"Mrs Dale?" Edith whispered - and then realisation struck. "Oh, Lord. It wasn't _you_, was it? It was _M-Mrs Dale_…"

"Yes, my dear." He shook his head tiredly. "I'm sorry, I assumed…"

She looked up at him miserably through fresh tears. "I… Mrs Cox telephoned… but the line was bad and I didn't…" She let out a shuddering breath. "All I heard was - was 'Sir Anthony' and - and 'heart attack.'"

"And you still came, Mrs Crawley?"

Edith nodded silently. He exhaled. "Well. There's something… unexpected."

Edith wouldn't look at him. "I - " She stopped. "All these months, sir, I've _hated_ you." She chuckled bitterly. "Really, _truly_ hated you. But… but I've never… _disliked_ you."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Thank you, Mrs Crawley. I think."

"I mean…" Edith sucked in a frustrated breath. "I never wished you harm."

"Much more than I deserve, I'm sure," he replied, ducking his head sheepishly.

To his surprise, Edith gave him a weak smile, and then looked away again. "Is there - any news?" she asked quietly.

"She's unconscious, still. Nothing out of the ordinary, according to the doctor. It's… a waiting game. Come through and sit with her for a while?"

Edith nodded and they stood together and went through.

Mrs Dale lay in a side-room on her own, her skin almost as pale as the white hospital sheets that swathed her. Edith let out a shuddering little sob and sank into the bedside chair. Anthony stood, helplessly watching her.

How were they here again? Had it been only a year since they'd last been in a hospital together, waiting to hear how Pip did? Had he really held her in his arms? Had they ever been so close to each other?

It all seemed so impossible now.

She sat bolt upright in her chair, arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring at the ground, eyes wide and face not so much pale as utterly colourless. He wanted so very much to go to her, and say something comforting, or offer to go and find her another cup of tea, but he knew that he had forfeited the right to do any of that. A slight sniffle reached him and he watched as silent, shimmering streams streaked down her cheeks and dripped to the floor. Roughly, she reached up a hand and pushed them away, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, thick and raw.

She looked up and caught his eyes on her, and then looked away again hastily. "I'm sure - I'm sure she'll be all right," Anthony offered quietly.

"Thank you, Sir Anthony, but you aren't _sure_ of anything," she whispered.

The door opened quietly behind them and Edith shot suddenly to her feet. "Doctor. Is she - ?"

The doctor, checking his notes, held up a reassuring hand. "Mrs Dale has had a _mild_ heart attack. She'll sleep for a while longer, but… she's in no significant danger just now."

Edith slumped, covering her face with one hand as a relieved noise escaped her. Anthony reached her side in long, firm strides. His hand hovered for a moment in the air between them, and then dropped helplessly back to his side. "How long will you keep her in, doctor?" he asked instead, trying to ignore the warm of Mrs Crawley's body next to him, so close after being so far away, for so long.

"Until she's recovered her strength. I'd say, a week or two, and then you'll be able to take her home. But," he warned, "she won't have the strength for any sort of heavy work for a good few months after that, I'm afraid."

"Don't worry about that," Anthony replied firmly. "We can manage. As long as she gets well again."

The doctor gave them a thin smile. "In that case, I suggest that you take your wife home, Sir Anthony, and both of you get a good night's sleep. Mrs Dale will need all your care and attention over the next few days."

Red with embarrassment, Anthony opened his mouth to correct the doctor. He didn't dare look at Edith.

Her small hand on his elbow was a surprise. "Yes. Thank you, doctor."

* * *

They stood outside the Infirmary together, breathing out clouds of frosty air. As Anthony looked up at the sky, a few flakes of snow, the vanguards of poor weather to come, drifted down and clung briefly to his eyelashes. "Beastly evening," he commented casually. "Will - will you come back to Locksley? You won't find a hotel room this late at night." He gave a wry grin as they turned and walked down the hospital steps. "Or… this early in the morning, I should say."

"Thank you. Yes." Edith tugged her coat more tightly around her as Sir Anthony rummaged in his coat pocket and withdrew his cigarette case and matchbox. Edith watched as he lit up and exhaled a relieved cloud of smoke into the air. Noticing her gaze, Anthony asked, very politely, "Can I offer you one?"

"Not frightfully ladylike," she demurred. "I don't think I ought to."

He blushed, feeling rather like a boy at his first social engagement, clumsy and out of place and with no idea as to what the etiquette in such a situation was. "No, of course. Forgive me." He frowned. "I don't know how we're going to get back to Locksley, though. How did you get here?"

"Oh, I… drove," Edith said casually.

"From Locksley?"

"Ummm… from a _little_ further afield," she hedged, and gestured to the borrowed car. "A friend of Flora's let me take her car."

"Are you well enough to drive?" Anthony wondered. "I could - "

"Better not," Mrs Crawley shook her head and slid into the driver's seat. "Not when I've borrowed the car in the first place."

"Are you…?" Anthony began and then stopped.

Edith shot him a look as she pulled out onto the main road. "Am I what?"

"Are you staying?" _God, he sounded like a desperate, needy child!_ "I mean," he clarified, clearing his throat, "what plans did you have, when you left Somerset?"

"I don't know," Edith whispered, almost to herself. "I just don't know."

* * *

There was a little bird bravely chirruping outside her window and weak sunlight filtering through her eyelids. Edith sat up and shivered as the heavy bedspread fell away. As if in a dream, she looked about her - around the room that had been hers for so long and was now hers again, for no matter how short a period of time. Her cases stood abandoned by the dressing table, her blouse and skirt and corset and stockings thrown haphazardly over the chair.

When they had reached Locksley in the early hours of Saturday morning and broken the relatively good news to the others, Mrs Cox had shooed them both up to bed. Edith had collapsed into hers - grateful that Mrs Cox and Molly had put a hot water bottle in there in her absence - and, after all the exhaustion of the past day and half, fallen straight to sleep.

Downstairs, a familiar face was devouring a plate of scrambled eggs with gusto. Edith hovered in the doorway of the breakfast room and for a moment let her heart ache with how much she had missed that dear little blonde head. "Hello, stranger," she offered quietly and Pip flew out of his seat and into her arms, his abandoned chair skittering carelessly across the wooden floor.

"Mrs Cox said you were coming," he whispered, "but I didn't quite believe her."

"O, ye of little faith!" Edith teased softly and he sniffled into her blouse, making her chuckle.

"Is Mrs Dale really going to be all right?" he asked at length. "I didn't know whether Papa was trying to… not worry me."

"The doctor seems to think so, yes, my darling," Edith reassured him, stroking his hair softly. "And I'm not going _anywhere_ until I'm sure of it. Where's your papa now?"

"Went back to the hospital as soon as he'd eaten," Pip shrugged. "He didn't want Mrs Dale to be alone for too long."

"Very sensible of him," Edith agreed, surprised at how approving her voice sounded. She drew back and squeezed Pip's elbows. "Now, sit down and let me pour some tea, and you can tell me _everything_ you forgot to put in your letters…"

* * *

After breakfast, with Pip dispatched on an errand into the village, Edith descended to the kitchen for a proper chat with Mrs Cox. "I'm sorry for the mix-up on the telephone, my lamb," the old cook sighed as she wiped down her table. "But I hope as I did the right thing?"

Edith nodded warmly. "Of _course_ you did, Mrs Cox. I… I wouldn't like to think that… that _anyone_ here was ill, and felt they couldn't ask me for help."

"Especially not the master, it seems." Mrs Cox had a twinkle of unholy, utterly inappropriate amusement in her eyes that made Edith blush hotly.

"Oh, _Mrs Cox…_" To busy her hands, Edith tugged the cloth from Mrs Cox's hands and began to scrub the table herself. "Now, tell me all the news. Pip mentioned that Sir Anthony has a new secretary."

Mrs Cox _harrumphed_ her disapproval. "Yes. Flighty young man called Everington. He's a flash sort, got the gift of the gab. Lucky for him, 'cos he's not got much else to recommend him, if you know what I mean."

Edith looked up, startled. "I - I'm sure that can't be true. The master wouldn't have hired someone… inefficient, I'm sure."

Mrs Cox lifted doubtful eyebrows. "Between you, me and the gatepost, my dear, I think he was getting desperate. Mr Everington just - "

But at that moment, the kitchen door swung open and a man a few years older than Edith strolled in, whistling. "'Morning, Mrs Cox! Any more tea about?" Spotting Edith, he stopped and let his eyes trail slowly up her. "Well, hel_lo_. Who have we here?"

"Edith Crawley," she replied, with the precise amount of chilliness in her voice which this informal greeting warranted. "You must be Mr Everington."

"Yes, I am." He extended his hand. "But please don't stand on ceremony. If you're going to try to steal my job back, then you must call me Mark."

"Oh, you needn't worry," Edith managed, ignoring the hand. "I'm only here to take care of Mrs Dale. She's been a very good friend to me. In fact," she told Mrs Cox, "I'm going to drive over to the hospital right now. I'm sure Sir Anthony is needed far more here. Did he take the Rolls with him, or did Mr Stewart drive him?"

"Mr Stewart ran him over there. If you drove yourself, he could bring the Rolls back," Mrs Cox suggested.

"Yes. What a good idea. Do excuse me, _Mr_ Everington."

* * *

_You must wake up_, Anthony thought, looking down at Mrs Dale's pale face. _Locksley wouldn't survive losing you. _We _wouldn't survive it. You saw Pip born, you kept me going when Maude and Frances died… you can't leave us now. You just can't._

"Any change?"

Mrs Crawley's soft voice at the door still made him jump. He rose hurriedly from the chair, hoping stupidly that he didn't look _too_ untidy. "No. Still sleeping. Probably for the best, all things considered. Is everything all right at ho - at Locksley?"

"Yes," Mrs Crawley smiled thinly. "I… met your secretary. What a very confident young man."

Anthony winced. "I didn't… Mrs Crawley, I - "

She held up a hand to silence him, and when she next spoke, her voice was falsely bright and cheerful. "Oh, you don't have to explain yourself. I… waltzed off into the sunset, you needed to find someone else. I'm sure he's frightfully efficient." She sat down neatly in his recently vacated chair. "I've left the Rolls outside. Drive it back, if you like. I'm going to spend the day with Mrs Dale in any case."

"I… I'll come back this afternoon, shall I? About four o'clock? Relieve you?"

Edith nodded, but she wasn't looking at him. "Fine. Until four o'clock, Sir Anthony."

* * *

When he reached Locksley, Everington was on the telephone. "Oh, here's Sir Anthony now, Miss Orton."

Anthony took the telephone. "Hello, Veronica."

"_Anthony_." Veronica sounded perfectly irate with him - as if it were _his_ fault that he hadn't had a damned heart attack! "Thank goodness you're all right! What awful news about Mrs Dale."

"She's resting now. The doctor thinks she'll be all right, she just hasn't… come round yet."

"She will," Veronica replied with certainty. "She's a strong woman. How's Edith holding up?"

"I… don't know. She's spent a lot of time at the hospital." He rubbed a tired hand over his face. "We've… not really talked much."

"I imagine she's still tired." Veronica clicked her tongue, sounding faintly admiring, as she added, "Driving all the way from Wolverhampton must take it out of one."

"What?" Anthony whispered. It was as if the words had failed to go in properly. _Wolverhampton? Why ever would she…?_

"Well, the trains were out - a bridge collapsed," Veronica explained blithely. "She telephoned us in a _devil_ of a panic, worried she wouldn't get to you before you turned your toes up." There was a pause, and then she asked, "Didn't she tell you?"

"She drove _all the way_ from _Wolverhampton_?" Anthony asked, almost to himself. "Whatever was the girl _thinking_?"

"That the next time she'd see you, you'd be halfway to Heaven," Veronica replied sternly. "She _really_ didn't say anything?"

"No," Anthony gritted. "She most _certainly_ didn't."


	62. An Old Woman's Advice

"Back again?" asked the cheerful nurse who came in to check on Mrs Dale. It was just half past twelve, and save for a trip away to fetch tea and visit the necessary, Edith had spent the day at her friend's bedside. She gave the nurse a weak, tight smile as she lifted Mrs Dale's rest to check her pulse. "I've never known anyone be so well cared for!"

"Mrs Dale is - is very precious to us," Edith murmured.

"Your husband said much the same thing when I came in this morning," smiled the nurse. "Very handsome chap you have there, if I may say so."

"Oh, he isn't - I mean…" Edith blushed furiously, but the nurse was distracted from asking further questions by the stirring of her patient.

"Ah, excellent," she said briskly. "Looks like someone's ready to rejoin the land of the living."

Mrs Dale blinked her eyes open at that. Edith seized her hands, unable to stop herself, and kissed them, hot tears pouring down her cheeks and over their interlinked fingers. "Oh, Mrs _Dale!_"

"I'll come back later," the nurse murmured. "When Dr Reid comes on his rounds." Edith did not even look up as she slipped away.

"Shh, shh… stop all that fussing right now, my girl," Mrs Dale ordered, but her voice was very gentle and held no trace of strictness. In fact, she sounded almost pleased. "Why are you up here, and not back in Somerset, hmm? That school won't run itself, you know."

Edith sniffed and shook her head. "I'm not going back. N-not just now."

"So you're not to leave us again just yet then, my lamb, hmm?" Mrs Dale reached a frail hand up to stroke at her cheek.

"N-no," Edith trembled. "Don't be silly. I - I couldn't think of it, while you're so dreadfully ill."

"I _wish_ you'd not thought of it in the first place," Mrs Dale croaked severely. "But I suppose that ship's long sailed."

Edith avoided her eye. "Yes. It has."

"Well, _I_ don't know why." She exhaled, long and shallow. "Were we such horrid folk to live amongst, that you'd get so cross with us you'd want to move to the other end of the country?"

"_No!_" Edith's voice was horrified. "I - I've missed you, and Mrs Cox, and Mr Stewart and Master Pip _very_ much."

"And what about the master, hmm?" Mrs Dale paused. "I thought you and he were… quite good chums, at one time."

Edith let out a slight, bitter laugh. "Yes. So did I, for a while. I was… mistaken."

"How 'mistaken'?" Mrs Dale frowned. "He'd be ashamed if he'd done anything to offend you. And he's been so miserable since you went away - "

"Goodness, you must still be so very tired," Edith interrupted, fussing with the pillows and the eiderdown. "I shouldn't be tiring you out with all this nonsensical chatter."

"I'm not so tired, my girl, that I can't listen to what's gone wrong between you two and try to put it right," replied Mrs Dale, catching hold of her fluttering hands between her own warm, calloused ones, and stilling them. "Now… just you tell me what made you leave, hmm? What was that horrid quarrel about?"

"Nothing. He just… isn't the man I thought he was," Edith blurted out, more than a little flustered.

"And who put ideas like that into your head?"

"No one!" Too late, Edith realised she'd answered too quickly.

"Lady Fyfe, I'll be bound." Mrs Dale's voice was filled with disapproval. "All right, out with it - what did that poisonous harpy say?"

"_Mrs_ _Dale_!" Edith gasped, caught between horror and amusement.

"Well, _I_ call a spade a spade." She tutted. "She was just the same as a girl - and I'll tell you another thing for nothing, there's not a person under Locksley's roof didn't breathe a sigh of relief when the master married Miss Maude - as was - instead."

"And I'm sure 'Miss Maude' was among them!" Edith scoffed under her breath.

Mrs Dale looked at her, open-mouthed, and then, to Edith's surprise, began to chuckle, albeit weakly. "Oh, so _that's_ it, is it?"

Edith knew her face was burning red with embarrassment. "I - I know _why_ Sir Anthony married her, if _that's_ what you mean."

"You don't know _anything_, my girl." Mrs Dale reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and Edith hastened to help her. When she had taken a few sips, and Edith had settled her back on the pillows, Mrs Dale said, very firmly, "Just you listen to one as was there."

"No, thank you." Edith's voice was brisk, and she couldn't help it getting a little louder as she added, "I don't want to hear anything more about this - this _disgusting_ affair!"

"O-ho, Miss Prim-and-Proper! If you _must_ know, Lady Strallan's papa was a strict sort of fellow. _Very_ strict. Strict enough that when he found the master kissing his daughter in a conservatory, he was ready to horsewhip him." She twinkled a little at Edith. "And of course, the master weren't so keen on that idea. So he proposed instead."

"J-just _kissing_ her?" Edith whispered, through suddenly numb lips. "Not - not anything else?"

"No!" Mrs Dale tutted. "Well… there might have been a bit of - of unchaste fumbling, if you catch my drift, but _nothing that couldn't have been mended_. Nothing of the sort you're thinking of. He behaved like a clot, pardon me for saying so, but he's not got a dishonourable bone in his body."

"Oh! So he - he didn't - he isn't - "

Mrs Dale reached forwards and squeezed Edith's hand gently. "_No_, my lamb. Don't leave us again, hmm? It's breaking his heart, losing another woman he loves."

Edith's cheeks were red again. "Don't be silly, Mrs Dale." She paused, shaking her head. "But… but he told me that he - he - Mrs Dale, he _admitted_ it, admitted that he'd… how did he phrase it? That he'd 'ruined her character', before they were married."

Mrs Dale raised her eyebrows. "Well, of course that's the way he sees it. It's the one time in his life he's ever lost control with a woman. But… surely you see, even if it went no further than that, he'd never have left a lass in the lurch. Not a man like Anthony Strallan."

"Yes," Edith whispered. "I quite see now."

Mrs Dale patted her hand. "Now, I think you should run along home and fix what's been broke, don't you?"

* * *

When she arrived back at Locksley - having telephoned Mr Stewart for a lift - Edith found that Sir Anthony had gone out on a visit to one of the farms, and wasn't expected back until it came time for him to go on to the hospital. Nervous and restless, she moped around in the kitchen, looking for something to do, until Mrs Cox, thoroughly irritated by such odd behaviour, ordered her off to lay the afternoon fires in the ground floor rooms. "And just you keep your mind on the job," she called after Edith. "Don't want the whole house going up in smoke on top of everything else," she muttered to herself.

So it was that when the master of the house arrived home, he found his erstwhile secretary knelt at the fireside in the library.

"Mrs Crawley." He shut the door behind him with a polite click. "I - you don't have to do that."

Edith continued to build the fire, not looking up. "Well, Molly and Mrs Cox are already rushed off their feet, and who else is going to? Not you, certainly. And not Mr Everington either. I know men - you'd all of you freeze to death if there weren't some poor woman around to light your fire for you." Her voice softened. "Besides… I needed something to… keep my mind off… things."

"Ah. Of course." He took a hesitant step forward. "How - how is Mrs Dale? Mrs Cox said she'd woken up."

"Getting stronger, Dr Reid says. Sitting up and talking." She let her eyes flicker briefly up to his face. "Apparently, she may be able to come home at the end of the week, if her progress continues to be this good."

His face creased into an expression of deep relief. "That's _wonderful_ news."

"Yes, isn't it?" Edith swallowed and added, in an off-hand voice, "I - I was thinking… even when Mrs Dale comes home, she - she will still need help, around the house, won't she? Perhaps… perhaps I ought to… stay on. Just for now?" Studiously, she avoided his eye. "You know that I can pull my weight. Pass me the matches, will you?"

He complied, asking as he did so, "Won't Dr Robinson be wanting you back?"

Edith looked down at her lap, hands crossed demurely in front of her. "We… may have had… something of a parting of the ways."

"Indeed?"

"Yes." She chanced another quick look at him, gave a deep sigh, and then explained, reluctantly, "When… when I received Mrs Cox's telephone call… Dr Robinson offered me the position of Bursar. I asked to take a leave of absence to visit Locksley instead, and she refused and… and so I resigned. I had to come."

"I know. And you were so convinced of that fact that you… drove all the way from Wolverhampton in one night."

Edith gave the carpet a sheepish smile. "Who ever told you that, I wonder?"

"Veronica." He frowned and then, when Edith did not seem about to continue the conversation, said abruptly, "Are you finished down there? I don't like… looking down on you like this."

A little startled, Edith rose and seated herself neatly in the opposite armchair. "What ever were you thinking?" Sir Anthony asked quietly. "_Anything_ could have happened to you. You could have _crashed_. You could have been stranded. You could have… fallen asleep at the wheel… Mrs Crawley - _Edith _\- "

"I _wasn't_ thinking, if you must know. All I knew was that… I needed to get back to Locksley because… because I couldn't bear for the last proper words I spoke to you to have been angry, unkind ones."

"I see. And you were willing to lose your job - your _perfectly good_ job - over it?" Edith blushed and did not answer. At length, he sighed and wondered, "So… what will you do now?"

"I don't know." She shrugged, smiling faintly. "Go back to London for a while, I suppose. She was very fair - sent me away with an excellent reference and a month's pay - but… I think I need a little rest, first." Hastily, she added, "That isn't the reason I'm offering to stay. I _do_ think it would be better if Mrs Dale had some extra help. Just… please understand, you wouldn't need to - to pay me, or anything like that."

Sir Anthony hesitated for a moment, and then reached forwards as if to take both of her hands in his. He only just managed to prevent himself. "You… you _could_, you know, if you wanted to… just… take your job back. I know… I _know_ things were beastly between us, before you left, but… but if I swore to… stay away from you, to… to - "

Edith shook her head. "You don't need to do that. I - I know you wouldn't… try anything awful."

"Does - does that mean that you'll stay, then?" he murmured. "Come back on your old terms? Be my - my strong right hand again?"

Edith's ducked her head, embarrassed. "Aren't… aren't you forgetting something?"

"What, my dear?" he frowned.

Her fingers twisted themselves together. "Um… Mr Everington. He's done nothing to deserve being dismissed, has he?"

Sir Anthony's face fell. "Oh. Yes, you're quite right."

"But I…" Edith began, and then stopped. Anthony searched her face, looking for anything that might give him hope.

"Yes? What is it?"

There was a faint shy smile there. "I suppose that I could - could come back on… different terms?"

"A sort of minister without portfolio, you mean?" Anthony prompted and she nodded.

"Why not? Mrs Dale _will_ need help, and I'm sure she'd rather me than someone new, someone she doesn't know."

"Quite right." He beamed. "So… that's settled. Yes?"

"Yes. I - " Edith stopped, and then the question she had been longing to ask came suddenly bursting out. "Why on _earth_ didn't you tell me the truth, sir? About you and Lady Strallan? Why didn't you tell me that Lady Fyfe had _lied_?"

Frowning, he sighed heavily. "The truth, my dear? What more did you need to know than that I - I compromised my wife, most thoroughly, before she _became_ my wife? In that regard, Lady Fyfe told you the absolute truth."

"You know _very well_," Edith protested, with a voice that trembled, "that Lady Fyfe made it sound as if you had - had _manipulated_ Lady Strallan. As if you had - had planned to seduce her. And… and it wasn't like that at all, was it? You - were just in love with each other, and… it was a momentary… loss of reason."

He shrugged, bashfully. "And isn't that just as bad? She was seven years younger than me, only just eighteen - still a mere child, really. I was a man, not a silly young lad, and I should have known better, should have controlled myself." He shook his head.

"You didn't even take her to bed," Edith whispered reproachfully. "Mrs Dale told me."

"For a woman who's just had a heart attack," he said wryly, "Mrs Dale has been _frightfully_ talkative." At Edith's speaking look, however, he ducked his head. "No," he agreed eventually. "I didn't." His lips quirked in a smile empty of any mirth. "But you shouldn't let Mrs Dale persuade you into ascribing any honour whatsoever to my behaviour. If her father hadn't discovered us… I've never been entirely sure that I _wouldn't_ have." He sighed. "I behaved no better - although, I hope, no _worse_ \- than Michael Gregson did, my dear, and I have no right to pretend that I did. But I was… in a position to remedy the injury I had done her, and I did." He coughed, shame-faced. "It… it isn't something I've ever been _proud_ of, you understand. I certainly wasn't going to make excuses about it to you."

Edith shot him a look that was full of warm exasperation. It jolted straight through him, a look like that, so full of compassion, after all those long months of estrangement and absence. "Would you have married her anyway?" she asked quietly, after a moment. "Even if you hadn't…"

Anthony nodded wistfully. "Yes. I… Maude and I were _very_ deeply in love with each other. She was funny and kind and…" He shot her a dry look. "And… _bold_. Well, we were both a little out of step with everyone else around us. We fitted together well - and there will always be a part of me that… that loves her."

Edith blinked away sudden tears. "Then you were very lucky, sir."

"Yes. I was."

She reached out for him. "I… must apologise. I said… so _very_ many beastly things to you, and you deserved none of them. I - I was angry and disappointed and - " She blushed. "Well, I suppose that's what happens when you set someone up on a pedestal. It was unfair of me." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't expect you to forgive me just now, but… but I will do my very best to - to earn your good opinion again."

"My dear, if anything… I admire you _more_ after this. To show such strength of character, such principles - "

"It wasn't that!" she protested. "Don't glorify my bad behaviour by giving it the name of 'principles'! I was judgemental and prejudiced and… and I let my assumptions get in the way of - of what I _really_ know about your character. Truly, I am sorry."

"Don't give it another thought, my dear." Kindly, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it, off-hand and affectionate. "All's well between us now, and you're staying, and when Mrs Dale comes home, I shall have nothing more to wish for." His hand squeezed briefly, tight and fond, against the one of hers that he still held. "Now, how about a nice cup of tea, and then you can tell Pip your wonderful news, hmm?"

"Yes," Edith agreed. "But… tomorrow, sir, I'm afraid I'll have to be absent again."

"Oh? Whyever is that?"

"Because I need to drive that _silly_ car back to Wolverhampton…"

Sir Anthony looked thoroughly astonished for a moment and then - as Edith had never heard him before - roared with laughter.


	63. Setting The World To Rights

"You really didn't need to come with me, sir," Edith sighed for the tenth time that morning. Next to her, in the passenger seat, roadmap spread out across his lap, Sir Anthony grinned.

"Nonsense, my dear. I think you'll find that for the ordinary human being, a drive from Yorkshire to Staffordshire in one day would be considered a job for two."

"I managed perfectly well on my own on the way up!" Edith protested.

Sir Anthony chuckled. "Yes, my dear, but as we have established on multiple occasions, _you_ are a woman of superhuman strength and capabilities. Alas, the rest of us are mere mortals." He squinted down at the map. "Left at the next crossroads, I think. However did you manage without a navigator?"

"Thank you, sir." Edith blushed. "I kept stopping, when I needed to check. I suppose it wasn't the most efficient method of travel."

"No, indeed," he agreed, still sounding faintly amused. "Shall we stop for lunch soon? Another five miles, say? Break into our provisions. Then I can take over the driving for a bit."

Edith rolled her eyes. "I _can_ manage, you know."

Sir Anthony's hand touched hers briefly, over the gearstick. "I'm perfectly aware of that, thank you. You never cease reminding me of it. But - just this once - you needn't." As Edith opened her mouth to argue, he rushed on: "And I know you don't manage well with being looked after, but it's unfair to expect to have _all_ the fun, you know."

"Fun?" Edith wondered.

"Yes - being in charge and admired and in control. Eventually, you'll have to let someone else take care of you, you know."

"Will I?" Her voice was very dry.

"Yes, you will." He shook his head and added, almost to himself, "How on earth are people supposed to show you they love you, Edith, if they aren't even allowed to do _that_?"

* * *

"Your tea, sir." Awkwardly, Molly edged around the library door, the heavy tray in her hands, and carefully nudged the door closed a little with her hip. Her wrists were already aching - usually there were two of them to bring the tea things up, but with Mrs Dale still in hospital and the master and Mrs Crawley gone to return Mrs Crawley's friend's car, the task had fallen on her alone. Not that Molly minded; with Mrs Dale ill, everyone, from the master down, had to pull their weight, even if this _was_ the most unpleasant task she had on her list for the day.

It wasn't the _tray_ making it unpleasant, after all. If only it were! Molly glanced up from the milk jug, unable to suppress the slick of unease that was settling like grease over her skin - that settled there every time she was asked to be in any sort of proximity to Mr Everington. _Too charming by half_, as her mum would have said. Even now, his dark eyes were roving over her in the way a fox looked at an young, plump hen. He stood from the desk and came towards her, almost as if he were about to relieve her of her burden. "Thank you, my dear."

He was much too close, and broad enough that he was completely blocking her route to the desk. The tray quivered in her hands and the sugar tongs slipped, the handles grating a metallic screech around the rim of the jug. "Um… the tray's very heavy, sir…" Molly tried, but Everington only smiled.

"Of course, my dear. Just… one… moment…" His hand reached out and lingeringly stroked away a dark curl that had slipped down from under her cap. A rather smug smirk spreading across his mouth, he let his thumb brush against the very corner of her mouth. Molly's stomach rolled. "There. Wouldn't want you to go back downstairs untidy, would we?" The smirk deepened. "Mrs Cox might think you've been… _up to no good_ in here…"

"Sir… the tray really is - "

"Mr Everington, the afternoon post has - " Mr Stewart rounded the half-open door and a sudden flood of relief rushed through Molly, making her knees momentarily weak. As quickly as she could, she ducked around Mr Everington and set the heavy tray down on the desk, her wrists tingling with relief as she did so.

"Oh. Thank you, Mr Stewart." There was a tinge of frustration in Mr Everington's voice and Molly shuddered inwardly at it as she ducked out into the library passage again, feeling Mr Stewart's concerned eyes on her back as she went.

"Is everything all right?" Stewart asked Everington. "Molly seemed… out of sorts."

Everington shrugged and leant back against the desk. "Just a bit shy, isn't she? Pretty little thing, though. _Very_ pretty."

Stewart drew himself up coldly. "I should tell you - the master doesn't approve of goings-on between the staff, Everington."

"Really?" He chuckled. "I'd have thought… what's sauce for the goose, y'know?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?" Everington said, smirking. "I'm talking about him and _Mrs _Crawley, as she calls herself. Anyone with eyes can tell what's going on there. Bit unsporting of him not to extend the same courtesy to everyone else, isn't it?"

Stewart shut the door with a hard snap and advanced forward. "Mrs Crawley is a lady, and under this roof, she is treated as such. The master has never behaved other than honourably towards her - "

"You can spare all of that, Mr Stewart - an idiot might believe it, but I don't. This trip to Wolverhampton, or wherever they've gone, for one thing. Overnight, isn't it? Alone in a hotel together, in a place no one knows them? You're telling me she won't be getting a knock at her door tonight?"

"I think you should stop talking, Mr Everington," Stewart said quietly. "Before you say something you'll be made to regret."

Everington shook his head. "Didn't take you for a prude, Mr Stewart. Getting worked up over a bit of harmless gossip?" Thoughtfully, he whistled. "Well, he's a lucky beggar, anyway. These buttoned-up, spinsterish sorts are all the same - mad for it once you've got them out of their - _arggh!_"

Stewart's fist had just connected hard with his nose. There was a horrid, crunching sound. Through eyes blurred with tears and a faceful of blood, Everington squinted up at him. "What the _hell_ d'you think you're doing?!"

"Teaching you a lesson," Stewart snapped savagely. "You were given fair warning. Keep your bile to yourself, Everington."

"You've broken my damned _nose_!" Everington almost howled.

Very calmly, Stewart turned for the door. "Yes," he agreed. "I very probably have. Make sure you don't bleed on the carpet - it'll be the devil to get out."

* * *

"Mrs Cox?"

"Yes, Mr - my Lord, whatever's happened to your hand?" Mrs Cox's eyes widened at the hand being cradled against Stewart's chest, and the bruises blooming across his swollen knuckles.

"Mr Everington and I… had a slight disagreement. Got a cold cloth?"

"Of course. And get some ice from the ice-house, too, for goodness' sake." She watched as Stewart soaked a cloth with cold water at the sink and wrapped it around the hand, then said, off-hand, "Not like you to lose your temper, Mr Stewart."

"Let's just say that Everington proved all our suspicions correct. He was being… _rude_… about the master and Mrs Crawley." Stewart lowered himself into a chair at the kitchen table. "And… _more_ than rude to Molly. Is she about?"

Mrs Cox shook her head. "Upstairs, making the beds for me." A nasty thought struck. "Here, he didn't - "

Hastily, Stewart interrupted. "No, no. Nothing she won't recover from. Let's just… keep him away from her, till the master gets back."

Mrs Cox exhaled. "Well, that's one problem dealt with, I suppose." Standing, she brushed a fond hand through his hair and tutted as Stewart unwrapped the cloth to check his knuckles. "That'll look like a sunrise come morning, my lad. You always were a chivalrous idiot, John Stewart, from six up."

* * *

"You must," said Winifred Dalton, tucking her arm into Edith's, "tell me _all_ about your adventure, my dear. It sounds so thrilling!" She and Sir Anthony, after delivering the car to the Daltons' home, had been immediately invited to stay and dine. Now, while Sir Anthony and Mr Dalton enjoyed port and cigars, Winifred had hauled Edith off for 'a nice cosy gossip' in her pretty drawing room.

Edith gave her hostess a faint smile. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. If I hadn't been so worried, I'd have been thoroughly bored, I'm sure. Thank you, again, for letting me borrow your car."

"Not at all!" Winifred waved away Edith's thanks. "I've told you, Charles would give away his last farthing to someone in need. Still…" She sighed as they lowered themselves onto the sofa. "He and Dora are darlings, of course, and I wouldn't be without them, but even I must admit that marriage and motherhood can be ever so slightly _dull_ sometimes. How _is_ your housekeeper, now?"

"Not _mine_," Edith reminded her hastily. "Sir Anthony's. Mrs Dale's recovering very nicely. Her doctor thinks she may be able to come home at the end of the week, if she continues to do so well. No heavy work, of course, but it'll be a relief to have her home."

"So you're staying on at Locksley, then?" At Edith's nod, Winifred leaned confidingly towards her, and, with a little giggle, said, "I must tell you, my dear, that from the way Flora described you and Sir Anthony, I quite got the impression that you were his fiancée - or at the very least, courting! I suppose I'm just an incorrigible romantic."

"Um… Sir Anthony's a… a very good employer, that's all. I… I admire and - and respect him very much," Edith managed, carefully setting aside her coffee cup.

Winifred's giggle deepened. "Really? That _can't_ be all, surely! He's frightfully handsome." A thought struck her, and she added, "Has he got any children?"

"Yes," Edith blushed. "A son, Phillip. He's nearly thirteen."

"Gosh. Well, perhaps you've got the right idea." Winifred shook her head musingly. "The woman who takes on _that_ kind of a circus will be brave indeed!"

"Oh, no," Edith hastened to explain. "Pip's really - "

"Darling," Charles Dalton announced at the doorway, "I was just saying to Sir Anthony that he and Miss Crawley should visit the Art Gallery tomorrow, before they go home. Don't you agree?"

"My darling husband," Winifred sighed almost comically, "is devoted to his town, Sir Anthony. I do hope he hasn't been boring you _too_ thoroughly?"

* * *

"What's this one called?" Anthony asked Edith, peering over her shoulder at the guidebook.

"_Peace and Plenty Binding the Arrows of War_," Edith replied, without taking her eyes from the painting. Really, the Art Gallery had been a very good suggestion on Mr Dalton's part. She almost felt as if she were on holiday. "Exquisite," she breathed after a moment more. "You could almost reach out and _touch_ those fabrics."

At Sir Anthony's soft huff of amusement, she twisted her head and looked up at him curiously. "What is it?"

"I simply… had no idea you were so interested in art. When Pip and I go to visit my mother this summer, you must come with us. You'll have been to the National Gallery before, of course, but we'll find something new and exciting for you."

As they turned away from the painting, Edith nodded. "I went once. A very long time ago. Miss Parkins - the governess we had after Sybil was born - took us. I was about… ten? Eleven? But Mary got bored and started to complain, so because she was Miss Parkins' favourite, we didn't stay long. And afterwards… working for… for Mr Gregson didn't give me an awful lot of time for excursions."

Cheerfully, Sir Anthony took her arm. "In that case, then, my dear, I absolutely _insist_." He checked his watch. "But now, we really should be making our way towards the train station. Be back home for dinner, if we're lucky."

"Mmm," Edith agreed contentedly. "Home."

* * *

**AN: Wolverhampton Art Gallery is a lovely Victorian building where I spent some very happy Saturday afternoons as a teenager. The painting Edith so admires in this chapter is the star of its collection. (The way the fabrics have been painted really _is_ gorgeous!) **

**Charles Dalton, his kindness and willingness to help others (not to mention his love for his hometown!) are all modelled after my maternal grandfather. We could all do with a few more Charles Daltons, in trying times like these.**


	64. Strong Right Hand

"A late dinner in the sitting room this evening, sir?" Mrs Cox asked as she opened the front door to them. "Master Pip's finished his prep, and he's just gone to bed."

Edith pulled off her gloves and tugged the pin out of her hat. "Lovely, Mrs Cox. I'll just go up and kiss him goodnight."

Anthony watched her patter up the stairs, a faint, longing expression on his face. Something hollow had opened up inside him, at the way she had spoken - a mother who had returned from a long journey, and wanted nothing more than to see her child. "Thank you, Mrs Cox," he managed quietly. "I… think I'll change first, then… poke my head around Master Pip's door. Will you send Stewart up to me?"

"Y-yes, sir. Of course. Right away."

"Mrs Cox?" Anthony frowned. "What is it?"

"We-ell, sir…"

* * *

"Good evening, my dear," Edith smiled, poking her head round Pip's door; the man himself was in bed, nose buried in a book, which he cast aside joyfully at her voice.

"Mrs C.! You're home!"

"I am," she agreed and perched on the edge of his bed to kiss his forehead. "Your papa will be up in a moment, I'm sure. Anything interesting happen while we were gone?"

Pip set aside his book, nibbling at his lip. Edith cocked her head to one side. "Pip? Darling, what is it?"

"I'm not sure," he confessed after a moment, "whether or not I should tell you. Mrs Cox said she wanted to speak to Papa about it first."

"Well, she's downstairs with him now. I imagine she'll already have told him." Edith frowned. "Is it _really_ so awful?"

* * *

"Hello," Edith offered quietly as Stewart passed her in the sitting room doorway. He gave her a small smile and a nod, and then shut the door behind him.

Sir Anthony stood at the fireplace, thoughtfully smoking his pipe and staring into the fire. He looked rather tired - and not just from the drive, Edith thought. From what Pip had told her, she wasn't at all surprised. "Sir?"

He jumped a little and looked around and down at her. "Hello, my dear," he returned quietly.

"Mr Stewart told you, then," Edith murmured.

His eyebrows lifted a little. "And _who_ told _you_, I wonder?"

"Pip." She raised a hand at his look of surprise. "Not all of it, I imagine, but… enough that I could piece the rest together myself. Is… is Molly b-badly hurt?"

"No, no," he reassured her hastily. "Just shaken. I've just rung for her. Will you stay, while I speak with her?" He dug his free hand into his pocket. "She may be more comfortable, with another woman in the room."

Edith smiled softly. "I don't think any woman could ever be afraid of you, sir. But, yes, I'll stay."

"Thank you."

There was a shy knock at the door and then Molly edged her way into the room, eyes wide and lip trembling. "Good evening, Molly," Sir Anthony smiled warmly. "Won't you sit down?"

Molly's eyes grew even wider and she gave a terrified shake of the head. "N-no, sir. I w-wouldn't dream of - "

Gently, Edith crossed to her, wrapped a reassuringly firm arm around her shoulders and guided her to the sofa. "What Sir Anthony means to say, Molly, is that you aren't in any trouble. We heard about Mr Everington's disgraceful behaviour and we just wanted to make sure that you were all right."

Molly blushed. "Y-yes, miss," she whispered. "I - I know that M-Mr Stewart… had a word with him. He came and spoke to me afterwards, and he - he was very kind to me…" Her blush deepened and Edith squeezed her elbow gently. "And I haven't seen Mr Everington since." Hesitantly, she chewed her lip. "I th-think Mrs Cox has been making him eat his meals somewhere else."

"Jolly good," Sir Anthony interrupted firmly. "Molly, my dear, I'm so very sorry that this happened to you, while you were under my roof. Mr Everington will be dismissed first thing in the morning."

Molly's head shot up, her mouth wide open in astonishment. "_R-really_, sir?" Her fingers were tying themselves in knots in her apron. "I - I wasn't expecting… I don't think - I'm sure he was just - "

Sir Anthony shook his head. "Molly. It is enough - _more than enough_ \- that he dared to lay even a finger on you. Go to bed, my dear - get a good night's sleep." And then, quieter, in a voice that made Edith's heart ache, sharp and sudden, "And please, try to forgive me."

* * *

"Is she asleep?" Sir Anthony asked as Edith shut the sitting room door behind her again. "You were gone rather a long time."

Edith smiled wanly. "Yes, asleep now." She sat down in the chair Sir Anthony pulled out for her. "She's very young. I don't think I realised that before. Sixteen, seventeen at most. A child."

"But she had a mother tonight," Sir Anthony murmured gently oer her shoulder. "Or at the very least, a very kindly older sister."

"Have you spoken to Mr Everington yet?" Edith wondered.

"No, but I've told Stewart to tell him that I'll see him in the study, first thing tomorrow." His face and voice were grim.

"And what happens afterwards?" Edith lifted the lid from a dish of green beans and began to scoop some onto their plates, while Sir Anthony served the lamb cutlets.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" Edith exhaled, gesturing helplessly around them. "Will you be looking for another secretary?"

"Do you want me to?" Sir Anthony asked quietly, lifting the wine bottle.

Edith fiddled with her napkin as he poured her a glass. "Well… you'll have so much else to do, won't you? Mrs Dale being ill. The house. Pip." She shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if Everington had left your ledgers…" Another little embarrassed shrug. "You don't need to worry about finding another secretary on top of all that, surely."

Sir Anthony lifted his wine glass and toasted her with it. "Thank you. I… appreciate it. Will ten shillings be enough?"

Edith blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"As a pay rise. Ten extra shillings a week. Will that be satisfactory, given that you'll be doing the job of two people?"

"Don't be silly, sir." Edith set aside her cutlery. "I didn't offer because I wanted… wanted to… "

"To hold me to ransom?" he asked, a wry smile playing about his mouth.

Edith narrowed her eyes playfully. "For _that_, sir, I shall take your ten shillings extra a week and not even feel a _little_ guilty about it."

"Mercenary girl," he chuckled - and with that, they lapsed into comfortable silence as they finished their dinner.

* * *

Edith felt warm and content and well-fed; by the time they had cleared their plates and moved to the sofa in front of the fire with their coffee, she felt pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, and it had been a comfortable, utterly relaxed smile that she gave her employer as he sat down next to her.

The conversation had been light, for the most part - what they ought to get Pip for Christmas, what Edith could take to Mrs Dale at the hospital the next day, the places they might like to visit on the promised London trip that summer. Edith felt, for the first time since arriving home, really, that all the ache and estrangement and distance of the past few months was finally lifting from her; it felt now like nothing more than a bad dream, brushed away by a sunny morning and a good breakfast.

"I suppose we shall have to start thinking about putting the Christmas trees up soon," Edith offered, as the talk between them lulled somewhat.

"Mmm, we shall indeed," Sir Anthony agreed. "Look - " (he nodded his head towards the mantelpiece and the mirror that hung above it) " - Mrs Cox has already started the decorations."

Edith looked. The green leaves and tiny white berries were unmistakeable.

"Mistletoe," she whispered, very quietly. She was fiddling with her coffee cup, toying with the spoon. At length, she set it aside, and very steadily went to the door. Her hands felt just the tiniest bit shaky, and she felt… _distant_… somehow as if she - Edith - were not in control of herself at all.

Behind her, she felt Sir Anthony rise - ever the gentleman - but he said nothing, and the only sound in the room was the click of her turning the key in the lock.

"Edith?" he asked, his voice somewhat confused.

She looked rather pale as she moved towards him again. "Sorry. I just thought… well, other people do rather have a habit of interrupting, don't they?"

"Interrupting?" Even to his own ears, his voice sounded sluggish and stupid. She was so beautiful, in the firelight - _so beautiful all of the time _\- and she was moving towards him as if she…

"Yes," she finished, letting out a sigh of shy laughter. "At moments like this. With us. And… it _is_ tradition." Her eyes flicked towards the mistletoe once more, and it hit him like a blow to the stomach, leaving him breathless with joy, what she was planning. "And," she continued, right in front of him now, her eyes wide and lovely, "it - it would be frightfully bad luck, wouldn't it, if we…?"

She was already leaning up on her tiptoes, when he agreed, softly, "Yes. _Frightfully_ bad luck."

His hand was on her waist, somehow, his head bending towards hers - and then their mouths pressed softly together.


	65. Back To Normal

_"Well, that was… rather lovely," Anthony breathed, his mouth a scant eighth of an inch away from her lips. As he spoke, his hands drifted up and took Edith's, drawing back to lift them to his mouth and kiss those too._

_Edith's shaky, breathless laugh made him look up. Her mouth was red from his kisses, and her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. Shyly, she whispered, "You don't think me… horribly forward?"_

_"Not at all." He leant in and murmured, mischievously, "I always think it's such a shame when we let these old traditions die out."_

_Edith squeezed his fingers gently and then withdrew them. "And on that note, sir, I think I ought to retire. Goodnight."_

_"Goodnight, my dearest."_

"Papa? Papa?"

Anthony shook himself and blinked at Pip. "Yes, my boy?"

"Are you all right?" Pip frowned.

"Of course I am." Lifting his cup of tea, Anthony took a sip and grimaced: it had gone cold.

"So can I?" Pip pressed around a mouthful of toast.

"Can you what?"

"Go out with Andrew today. Sledging."

"Oh. Oh, ye - " The breakfast room door opening distracted him; a demure vision in a blush pink blouse had just slid into the room. Anthony rose to his feet, stumbling a little.

"Umm… good morning, Mrs Crawley."

She flashed him a shy smile. "Good morning, sir." Her smile for Pip was much wider and more confident. "Good morning, Pip, my darling."

"Morning, Mrs C. Papa, I said I'd meet Andrew at the top of Hincks' Lane at ten o'clock. It's almost half past nine now. So can I?"

Anthony huffed out a laugh. "Well, it seems your plans are all settled." Pip jumped for joy, bumped a sticky kiss against Edith's cheek, and dashed for the door. "Be back before it gets dark, though!" Anthony called after him.

He and Edith shared a look full of fondness - then the moment died and Anthony lowered himself slowly back into his chair. "Mrs Crawley - Edith… about last night… I…" Words failed him and he was left staring quite helplessly at her.

Edith took pity and poured him a fresh cup of tea. "Please, don't apologise." Her eyes flickered up at him as their fingers brushed. "I… enjoyed every moment of last night - k-kiss included - but I want you to know that… I'm not about to hold you to anything." She took a breath. "In fact… I think it would be much the wiser decision if we were to… just set it all aside for now."

"O-oh?"

"Yes." With a brisk flick of her wrist, Edith spread her napkin over her lap and reached for the toast. "We… we have _responsibilities_, you and I. Pip, for one. He's had such an - an unsettling year - thanks in the main to my silliness - and I'd much rather not… risk upsetting him again. Our attention should all be focused on him, just now, not on - on getting involved in - in a romantic… _entanglement_ with each other." A troubled, sad little frown crossed her face. "Added to which… I was my employer's mistress once before, and it's a situation I've no wish to repeat. Do you understand?"

"I do - and I agree with you, I suppose." His lips quirked. "Sadly. But… you don't think me a cad?"

"When _I_ made advances towards _you_? Hardly." She shook her head. "I won't say that I don't - don't care for you, because… that would be a lie." Her lip trembled. "I hope you know how _much_ of a lie. It's just… it's a perfectly impossible situation." Her voice broke and her eyes were filled with regret as she looked up at him again. "I'm sorry."

"And I'm sorry that, last night, I wasn't as sensible as you are now." Softly, he reached out and squeezed her hand. "Friends?"

Edith's face melted. "_Always_ friends, sir."

"Jolly good." He set aside his napkin and his expression hardened somewhat. "And now, unfortunately, I must go and deal with the odious Mr Everington."

"Would you like me to be there?" Edith asked, forcing herself to turn her attention back to the practical and sensible.

"No, no, my dear." Sighing, he rose. "I don't want him within five _miles_ of you, let alone in the same room. Do excuse me."

And with that, he was gone.

Edith finished her breakfast alone, and then went out into the hall, heading for the archive; Lady Strallan had written the previous day, asking about some photographs of Sir Anthony and his sister Diana when they were children. Now would be a perfect opportunity to look them out.

"So you've got your way, then," a sneering voice asked behind her as she opened the door.

Turning on her heel, she saw Mr Everington, his face red with anger and his hair in some considerable disarray. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Mr Everington," Edith replied coolly.

He snorted, advancing on Edith. "Shame that not all of us can spread our legs to get what we want from the master, isn't it? You women are all the same, manipulative little bitches."

"Is that everything you wished to say to me, Mr Everington?" Edith wondered, her hand scrabbling for the door handle behind her. Without pausing for his reply, she opened the archive door, stepped smoothly through, and shut it behind her with a snap. After a moment, she turned the key quickly in the lock, withdrew it - and then sank down in the desk chair, breathing heavily and shaking all over.

Well, there it was - proof, if proof were needed, that she had made absolutely the correct decision as regards she and Sir Anthony. She was supposed to be sensible, wasn't she? Well, she had shown precious little of that last night. Goodness only knew what had got into her! All that nonsense about mistletoe and old traditions and bad luck! She was only fortunate that he was such a kind, forgiving, honourable gentleman, that he wouldn't take this as an opportunity to press any of his own advances on her.

What else could she have said? What else could they have _done_, apart from agree, very courteously, to put aside whatever there was between them, for the greater good? She was perfectly right in that respect, she knew - that they both had far too many people relying on them for them to decide on anything _other_ than that. Added to which…

Mr Everington had a nasty little mind, of that she was convinced, but if even he, with only a week's knowledge of she and Sir Anthony together, could start to make assumptions and sneering little comments… well, Mrs Cox and Mrs Dale were both highly intelligent women - and in a place like this, gossip (no matter how innocent) travelled on winged feet. She couldn't bear the irreparable damage that would be done to Sir Anthony's reputation if anyone ever thought that he were the sort of man to - to take advantage of his employees like that.

No, she had really made a very sensible decision.

* * *

At the end of that week, Mrs Dale was finally discharged from hospital and brought home in an ambulance. Edith was waiting eagerly in the hallway with Pip as Sir Anthony wheeled her in. "Mrs Dale - it's so lovely to have you back home," she smiled as she bent to kiss her cheek.

Mrs Dale patted her cheek fondly. "And lovely for me to _be_ back, my lamb." Looking around her, she added, "Not as I was worried about the house, mind, knowing I'd someone sensible running things for me."

"We'll get you settled in the parlour, shall we, and then I can fill you in?" Edith asked.

"Wonderful," Sir Anthony agreed. "But don't get tiring yourself out, Mrs Dale."

"Nonsense, I've had enough rest to kill me. Master Pip - have you grown, or have I shrunk?"

Over the following days, however, the invalid, as this homecoming might have told any experienced observer of old ladies, proved rather troublesome. "How is she?" Sir Anthony asked Edith as she came into the library and flopped down at her desk chair.

His secretary let out a rather harassed sigh. "You know they say the best nurses make the worst patients?" Sir Anthony clucked sympathetically as Edith continued: "I'm _sorely_ tempted to post an armed guard on her door - she's been out of bed at least three times this morning already." She shook her head. "She's testing Pip on his Latin vocabulary list just now, but there's only so long I can ask the poor boy to stay inside for, especially on a Saturday. The trouble is, with Christmas so soon, she feels as if she has to oversee all the organising…"

"Thank you. You've done a marvellous job," Sir Anthony soothed. "Perhaps take some more books up to her later?"

"And her knitting bag, too?" Edith added thoughtfully. "From something I overheard Mr Nicholls say the other day, I think his wife may be expecting again - "

" - and there's hardly a baby in the parish who hasn't something in their wardrobe knitted by our Mrs Dale," Sir Anthony finished with a smile. "An excellent idea, my dear." He sighed as he flicked through the paperwork Edith had left on his desk. "Really, it's the Summer Fete that's concerning me, now. Mrs Dale usually arranges everything, but with her still on the sick list, we'll just have to cancel it, I'm afraid."

Mrs Crawley frowned out of the window. "Oh, that would be _awful_! The parish council would never find somewhere else half as nice as here, would they? And the whole village looks forward to it so much." Almost hesitantly, she asked, "Perhaps I could take over the organising? Just for this year?"

Sir Anthony looked up, blue eyes startled. "Oh, I couldn't ask you to do that! You're busy enough as it is!"

Mrs Crawley smiled. "But you aren't asking, sir - _I'm offering_!" Almost pleadingly, she pointed out, "And I know it would reassure Mrs Dale, to know that everything was running smoothly, and as usual. She'd feel so guilty if we had to disappoint everyone." Shrugging, she added, "If we all pulled together, I think we could manage it. Couldn't we?"

His face split into a wide smile and he gave her a flourishing, seated bow, making her chuckle. "My dear Mrs Crawley, I am at your command."


	66. The Year Turns Round Again

"Absorbing letter?" Sir Anthony asked cheerfully. It was the 22nd of December, a Monday, and the day after the Tenants' Tea. As a result, they had all had a slow start that morning, and Edith was still finishing her midmorning cup of tea as she read over Richard's latest missive.

She looked up from the window seat, her expression a little bewildered. "Well, yes, as it happens. From Richard. My sister Mary is - is expecting a baby."

"Well, what wonderful news!" He smiled broadly and encouragingly. "Isn't it?"

"Y-yes…" Edith frowned down at the letter. "She's five months' gone, already, though." She sighed a little humorously. "Only Mary could get halfway through a pregnancy without telling one of her closest relations about it."

"Has Richard said why?"

"It sounds as if they're only telling me _now_ because they won't be coming to Downton for Christmas. Listen: _Mary and I shall stay in London for Christmas, as the baby is making Mary feel rather delicate._" She shrugged, folded up the letter and tucked it away in her cardigan pocket.

"Well, anyway, a niece or nephew for you." More quietly, with a shy duck of his head, he added, "And we both know already how wonderful you are with children."

"Yes." Edith gave him a proper smile this time. "I'm… rather pleased, actually. I don't… feel as sad about it as I would have done, this time last year. Now… the thought of a new little one in the family is… very nice."

"I'm glad." Sir Anthony's voice was warm and sincere. "Very glad indeed. Four more months…" He ticked them off on his fingers. "That'll be an April baby, and time enough for them to get settled before you visit in the summer. Do congratulate your sister on her splendid sense of timing."

Edith rolled her eyes. "Oh, if there were ever a woman to be calculating about this sort of thing, it's my _darling_ sister." Standing, she lifted a sheaf of papers that rested on her desk. "Now, I wanted to talk to you about the Fete. I think I have a date."

"When are you thinking?"

"The 4th of August, I think. Does that sound all right?"

"The 4th of August, 1914," Sir Anthony nodded, smiling. "It'll go down in history, my dear. The date of the best garden party Locksley's ever seen."

* * *

"Happy Christmas, Mrs C.!" grinned Pip, kissing her cheek and setting an untidily wrapped package on the table next to her plate. Christmas Day had dawned deliciously cold and bright; Edith had been up with the larks for a walk around the gardens and was consequently already on her third cup of tea and second helping of bacon and eggs.

"Happy Christmas, my darling," she smiled. "What's all this?"

"Present," he shrugged bashfully, sliding into his seat at the table.

"From you, or from you _and_ your Papa?"

"Just from me." Pip blushed. "I… I made it. Well, Mr Stewart helped me a bit."

"Did he?" Edith's fingers started to pull at the wrappings. "Remind me to tha- oh, _Pip_. Darling, it's _beautiful._" What sat before her, nestled in its wrappings was a little lidded jewellery box of oak. Burned into the lid, by a hesitant hand trying desperately to mimic the Art Nouveau style, was a sinuous cat - modelled, Edith realised, after her own Buttons.

Pip shrugged, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. "I fudged the joins a bit. And don't look too closely at the border at the bottom - I slipped with the wire when I was - "

Edith hugged him tightly, cutting off his list of errors. "I don't care," she whispered. "_You_ made it for me, and if it fell apart in an hour, I would _still_ treasure it more than anything else I might ever own, just for that."

When she drew back, Pip cocked his head to one side, regarding her quizzically, and Edith found that her eyes were damp. "No need to turn into a watering can over it!" he rolled his eyes. "Honestly - _girls_!"

Edith chuckled wetly and fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. "That's quite enough of your cheek, my lad, Christmas morning or not."

"What's all this?" Sir Anthony asked at the door. Edith looked up, wiping away the last tear, and said, "Master Pip has just given me his present, that's all."

"And then Mrs C. started _crying_!" Pip shook his head at the incomprehensibility of the gentler sex.

"Ah." Sir Anthony slung his arm around his son's shoulders. "In my experience, old thing, ladies only tend to cry if they are either incandescently furious or incandescently happy." Grinning at Edith, he asked, "Well, which is it, Mrs Crawley?"

"Happy, of course. Pip - yours and your father's gifts are on my desk. Perhaps you'd run and fetch them for me."

"Right-o, Mrs C."

"Which just gives me time to give you _your_ present," Sir Anthony smiled, reaching into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and drawing out a small box. "Rather appropriate, now I've seen Pip's." Handing it over, he added, "Of course, Mrs Dale and Mrs Cox have sorted out the usual material for a dress or a skirt or… oh, whatever you do with it normally, but… I wanted to get you a little something extra - just as a thank you, really, for how tremendous you've been, taking on all this additional work since Mrs Dale's heart attack and - " Apparently realising that he was babbling, he finished, rather weakly, with, "Well, you'll see, anyway."

"Oh?" Carefully, Edith slid the lid off the little box.

A small circular brooch lay there, made up almost entirely of tiny delicate silver curlicues, a single blue-green stone set into the bottom right of it, like a bud amongst vines. "Sir…"

"I thought it would suit," he interrupted softly. "Terribly small, and simple and understated… you'd never notice it, in the normal way of things. Then…" (he reached out and tilted the box so that the stone caught the morning light, sparking off lovely multicoloured depths) "…all of a sudden, perfectly unexpectedly, it becomes quite, _quite_ exquisite." His warm thumb brushed her bare wrist briefly, fondly and then let go. "And afterwards, of course, it never seems small or simple to you ever again."

The excitable clattering of Pip's feet in the passage as he returned could be heard. Edith gave him a quiet, grateful smile. "It's beautiful. I… I love it." The door opened behind her and she turned, with not a little relief, to relieve Pip of his burdens, two soft packages wrapped with rather more skill than his to her had been. "Now… you both have the same because I didn't want either of you to be jealous," she said, rather primly, making Anthony hide a smile behind his hand. "And - and - they may not quite fit perfectly, I - I was guessing a lot of the time and I - "

"Let us at least open them before you start making excuses for them, hmm?" Anthony pulled out a pile of soft blue-green knitting and shook it out, revealing a thick woollen pullover. "My dear…" He looked and shook his head at her in wonder. "I don't think a woman has _ever_ made anything for me before…"

"You're telling me that Mrs Dale didn't knit you a hat or booties or a little jumper when you were a baby?"

"Well, perhaps she did. But this is the first thing I can _remember_." He shrugged off his jacket and pulled it over his head. "Perfect," he smiled, although Edith could see that the arms were a touch too long, and the torso a touch too wide.

Pip was pulling his on too, his hair appearing ruffled as his head poked through the neck. "Did Mrs Dale knit _me_ things when I was a baby?" he wondered. "Thanks, Mrs C.!"

"She did," Sir Anthony smiled. And then, an expression of indescribable sadness crossing his face, he added, "And so did your Mama, too. For months while she was having you, all we heard from dawn till dusk was the click of her knitting needles." He swallowed. "And it was just the same when she was carrying your sister."

"She must have been a very clever woman indeed," Edith put in softly.

"She was," Sir Anthony nodded, squeezing Pip's shoulder warmly. "She was indeed." And then he smiled.

* * *

"Mama, hello." Once again that year, Edith had been invited to spend Christmas at Downton. Matthew had sent the car for her, and by the time Edith slipped into the library, it was half past eleven o'clock and most of the Earl and Countess's guests were already gathered.

Cora turned and Edith saw that she was holding baby George in her arms. "Hello, my darling." Cora grinned. "Just getting in some practise before Mary's little one arrives."

Edith leant in and kissed her cheek. "How is she?"

"Just a little tired. That's quite normal, I promise." Cora bounced George very gently in her arms, smiling down at him. "I think she and Richard just wanted a quiet Christmas together - before all the chaos begins!"

A pair of warm arms wrapped around Edith from behind, and Sybil's bright laugh sounded in her ear. "Hello, you! Gosh, it seems like _years_ since we saw you!"

Edith turned to accept Sybil's embrace. "Well, if only you wrote more often!" she laughed. "Hello, Tom."

"How are you, Edith?" he grinned.

"Very well. I read your column last week - it was very good."

Sybil squeezed her husband's hand proudly. "They always _are_, darling."

* * *

"I think," Isobel said to Edith after lunch, "that we should invite Sir Anthony and Phillip for the ball on New Year's Eve. What do you think? Or have they already made arrangements?"

"I… don't think so," Edith replied. "I could ask, if you'd like."

Isobel squeezed her hand. "Yes, do. Pip's old enough now to not disgrace himself amongst adults, isn't he? It would be a nice treat for him. And the Gervases will be here, and the Montgomeries. Veronica and Flora, too."

"Oh, but Lady Strallan will be here, then, too," Edith recalled. "She was staying with friends in London for Christmas, but she'll be here for New Year."

"Then she should come too." Isobel sighed. "I'm only sorry Mr Pelham has decided to go and stay with his mother for Christmas. He'll miss everything."

Edith swallowed away a small lump in her throat. "Well, I'm sure his mother will be very glad to have him."

"Yes," Isobel mused. "We're only sorry that you two have fallen out so badly. When I think about how sweet you were together _last_ Christmas - "

"Well, _I_ didn't like him at all," Sybil intervened staunchly, squeezing Edith's other hand tightly. "And besides, I think there's a man a _hundred_ times' better just around the corner for our darling Edith!"

Isobel grinned excitedly. "Oh, my dear, is it true? _Do_ tell!"

Edith blushed, caught between them both. "Oh, Sybil's just teasing, Isobel. There's nothing like that going on. Not with _anyone_."

"Yes, cousin Isobel," Sybil smiled. "Just teasing." Her grin became somewhat mischievous as her gaze dropped to Edith's blouse. "Lovely brooch, Edith darling - Christmas present?"

* * *

**AN: Edith's brooch isn't based on a specific real-world example, but is a combination of several designs I found while I was researching this chapter. But because I am a knitter and seamstress myself, I *do* know precisely what wool I was imagining for Anthony and Pip's jumpers; if you want to check it out, it's Quince and Co.'s Lark yarn, in the 'Peacock' shade. It's not at all historically accurate, but it *is* deliciously soft and lovely to knit with.**


	67. Reinforcements

"Happy Christmas, my dears!" smiled Lady Strallan, kissing Pip's cheek as her other arm embraced Anthony. Releasing them, she stepped back and caught sight of Edith. "Edith, darling girl, I was _so_ happy to hear from Anthony that you'd come back." Before Edith knew what was happening, her employer's mother had caught her up into a tight, warm hug.

"Hello, my lady. Happy Christmas."

"What lovely jumpers you both have!" Lady Strallan said to Pip as they all walked through to the library.

"Mrs C. knitted them for us," Pip explained proudly.

"Did she? How _very_ clever of her!" Lady Strallan squeezed Edith's hand. "And for both of them, too, my dear - you must have been at your needles for months! Why don't you come upstairs with me after tea? I hear we've a ball to attend this evening, and I could do with another woman's opinion on my gown."

* * *

"I truly was happy to hear that you'd come back to Locksley, my dear." Lady Strallan hung her gown on the outside of the wardrobe and stepped back to view it critically. "Anthony was _so_ downcast after your quarrel."

Edith, perched on the edge of the bedspread where she had been placed five minutes' before, blushed. "Oh. He told you. I'm so ashamed of my foolishness, my lady, I… There's really no excuse for it."

Lady Strallan waved away Edith's half-apology with an airy hand. "Not at all." Her still-pretty face grew rather serious. "Anthony… also explained why you were _particularly_ distressed to hear about the circumstances surrounding his and Maude's marriage." At Edith's small, faint noise of surprised distress, she sat down next to her on the bed, giving her a somewhat anxious look. "I hope you won't blame him - I always have been horribly inquisitive, and I couldn't for the _life_ of me work out what had gone so horribly wrong between you."

"Yes," Edith managed. "That is to say… no, I don't blame him." She tipped her chin back bravely. "I'm well aware that my association with Mr Gregson speaks to my having a rather shabby, low sort of character but I - "

"Stuff and nonsense!" snorted her ladyship. "I _assure_ you, my dear, there was nothing in what he told me to make any rational person - certainly any rational _woman_ \- feel anything apart from a _hearty_ dislike for your former employer."

Edith swallowed, not quite able to believe her ears. There could be only one explanation for such a kind and charitable response to her transgression. "And… he told you… _everything_?"

"If by everything, you mean that your married employer, whose wife was in an asylum, saw that you were mourning the death of your father and took advantage of your vulnerability to embark on a love-affair with you, and that you became pregnant by him, and lost your child… then, yes, he told me everything." She lifted an arch brow. "Is there more that I should be aware of?"

Numbly, Edith shook her head. "No. That… is everything. Although, Sir Anthony has cast my behaviour in a much kinder light than I think it deserves." Honestly, she explained, "Vulnerable I may have been, but not ignorant of what the word 'married' means. One momentary slip might be forgivable, but not what I did, not two years' of - of - "

Lady Strallan watched her narrowly all through this little diatribe, and then asked, quietly, "And are you still there? Are you still his mistress? Are you making any sort of an excuse for your behaviour?" Without waiting for a reply, she pressed on: "No, of course you aren't. My dear, no one goes through life without making mistakes. I _certainly_ haven't. But you would only be compounding your error now, I think, to carry on… holding it over yourself for the rest of your life. Can you see that?"

"I - " Edith began and then stopped. Carefully, she began again, "How do I even begin to start forgiving myself for something like that?"

Lady Strallan slid a friendly arm around her shoulders. "By perhaps just being ever so slightly kinder to yourself?" She sighed. "You have a young sister, don't you?'

"Yes?" Edith answered, not entirely sure where all this was going.

"What is she like?"

How on Earth to describe the human whirlwind that was Sybil! Nonetheless, Edith tried. "Sybil? She's fierce and strong, and she has a frightful temper. But… she can be terribly sweet too, when she wants to be. You'll meet her and her husband at the ball later."

There was a twinkle in Lady Strallan's eye as she said, "I shall look forward to that. Well, then, my dear, if Sybil had ever come to you, and told you that she had done what you have done, what would you say to her? What would you do?"

"I'd want to tear out the throat of the man who thought he had the right to - _oh_!" Edith's rather fierce expression lapsed into one of sheepish amusement at Lady Strallan's humorously raised eyebrows and 'I-told-you-so' expression. "Oh," she repeated, in quieter tones. "I see."

"And _that's_ how you stop hating yourself," Lady Strallan finished kindly. "In any case, rest assured that Anthony is generally the very soul of discretion, and when he isn't, he chooses his confidantes _very_ carefully."

"He's been very, _very_ kind to me," Edith agreed.

"And a mother is always glad to hear _that_ about one of her children." Lady Strallan stood and went to the wardrobe to twitch a crease out of the skirt of the ballgown. Thoughtfully, almost as if she were talking to herself, she said, "It strikes me that both you and Anthony need someone to take care of you. You might… be of use to one another in that way."

"R-really? I d-don't know what you mean, my lady."

Nancy bit her lip to hide a smirk at the squeak in Edith's voice.

"Don't you? Forgive me, then. Apparently I have misread the situation." As she spoke, she went to the dressing table and opened her jewel-case. "I think I shall wear this this evening. It will suit this gown, won't it?" She turned, holding up a glimmering necklace of diamonds. "Anthony's papa gave it to me, as a wedding present, and it became something of a tradition to wear it at balls."

"It's very beautiful," Edith agreed.

"Indeed it is," Lady Strallan smiled fondly. "And certainly the most expensive gift I'd ever received, at the time." Setting the necklace back carefully in its place in the jewel case, she added, wryly, "Not much call for diamond necklaces, as the daughter of a common country curate, as you might imagine."

"I… didn't know that."

"Oh, yes. It was quite a local scandal at the time - the lord of the manor courting by letter a girl who was twenty years' his junior - the daughter of a penniless Cornish curate - and then _marrying_ her…! Well, my dear, I'm sure you can imagine." She grinned at Edith in the mirror, looking thoroughly unrepentant.

"But you sound as if you and Sir Phillip were very happy," Edith countered.

"Oh, I _was_, blissfully so. We both were." Lady Strallan shook her head. "I won't say that Phillip didn't sometimes make me incandescently _furious_ \- but I'm equally certain that there is no one else who could have made me so positively, absolutely, completely happy either." Her hand was gentle against Edith's shoulder. "Strallan men have something of a habit of falling perfectly in love with women whom everyone else considers perfectly _unsuitable._ I think I even remember Phillip telling me once that one of his ancestors, back in the 16-somethings, married an _actress_. Family legend, I think - but I'm sure you'd know more about it than I would, you being such an expert on the family history." A pause, and then she prodded, "Do you see what I'm trying to tell you, my dear?"

Edith trained her eyes on her lap. "I… think so. Lady Strallan… I won't lie to you: I have the very highest regard for Sir Anthony. And recently… well, certain things have happened which have made me realise that… that that regard is both mutual and… and much warmer and more affectionate than I had thought before." She could feel herself blushing. "But… that being the case, I would want to make sure - to make _utterly_ sure - that… that we were pursuing the right course of action, before we… leapt into anything." Thinking of Pip, she pointed out, "We don't simply have our own happiness to consider, after all. Am I… explaining myself clearly?"

Lady Strallan gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. "Perfectly clearly. I think you're a very sensible woman, my dear. But I _would_ like you to know that none of the people who _really_ matter would have any objection whatsoever if you and Anthony were to… well, form some sort of closer connection with each other, if and when the time is right for you both." While Edith was still absorbing that, Lady Strallan exhaled, clapped her hands together, and then said, "Now… what are _you_ wearing this evening, my dear? Is there anything I can help with?"

* * *

"Well, don't you two look dashing?" Lady Strallan smiled at Anthony and Pip as she and Edith descended the stairs that evening. The gentlemen, in their white tie (Pip looking faintly stunned at finding himself in such formal wear), were waiting in the hall for the ladies. "And," Lady Strallan added quietly and mischievously to her son, "doesn't Mrs Crawley look beautiful?"

Overhearing, Pip rolled his eyes. "Oh, _Granny!_ Mrs C. _always_ looks beautiful."

"Well, thank you very much, my darling."

Edith's smile and faint, pretty blush made Anthony ache.

The ache did not show any signs of dissipating, either, on the drive to the Abbey, or while he sat at supper, watching Edith laughing with her sister and mother, or afterwards when the whole merry party trooped through to the ballroom for the dancing to begin. Edith, Mrs Branson and the Countess had clustered themselves into a group of chairs at the side of the ballroom, giggling with each other, and Anthony couldn't help allowing his gaze to drift over there occasionally.

At his shoulder, his mother sighed. "Are you really going to spend your whole evening ogling her? At this juncture, it might be more proper to, oh, ask her to dance, perhaps?"

"Would it indeed?" her son asked dryly, twisting his head to look her in the eyes.

"Yes," his mother replied firmly. "In fact - oh."

"What?" Anthony frowned.

An amused smile settled on Lady Strallan's face. "I'm afraid that your son has beaten you to the mark."

It was true. Edith and Pip were already halfway onto the dance floor. Over the music - a waltz - Anthony heard her tell him: "Now… it's very simple, you must just remember to count as we go. One, two, three, one, two, three - lovely. What an excellent dancer you are, my dear."

Anthony smiled (she was exaggerating Pip's prowess rather significantly) but they both looked as if they were enjoying themselves. Their joy had not gone unnoticed. Behind him, he heard Helen Spalding say, somewhat archly, "Is Mrs Crawley Anthony's secretary or Phillip's governess? One might hardly know the difference, Isobel."

The Dowager Countess's reply was softly scolding. "Well, I happen to think they're terribly sweet together. And the poor boy has been without a mother for _far_ too long."

Lady Strallan shot a sparkling look of fun up at him. "Now, isn't that what _ I'm_ always saying?" she muttered.

On the floor, Pip frowned in concentration. "Am I still doing it right?" he wanted to know. "It doesn't feel very smooth…"

"Oh darling," Edith smiled, "you're doing very nicely. Only… perhaps I'm slightly taller and you're slightly shorter than we should be for it to work as well as it should."

Looking over her shoulder, Pip grinned suddenly. "Perhaps Papa can help, Mrs C."

"May I cut in?" Sir Anthony asked at that moment from behind them.

"Oh, I - "

But Pip had already stepped back, that cheeky grin of his getting even wider, and Sir Anthony lifted an enquiring eyebrow and Edith stepped into into his arms. One hand rested warmly against her upper back, his thumb just grazing the skin left exposed by her gown, the other held her hand. Edith let her free hand come to rest over his shoulder. They were almost eye to eye, and certainly closer than they had been since that deliciously ill-advised kiss a few weeks' ago.

"You waltz so beautifully," he murmured in explanation as they moved away, "that I couldn't possibly let Pip have all the fun."

"That's very kind of you," Edith whispered. "But between you and I, I think we may have to work on his technique." It was true, what she had said to Pip - this sort of thing really did work better when the leader was a little taller and more experienced.

"Ah, I see." His eyes twinkled with fun. "Give the poor lad some demonstrations, that sort of thing?"

"I think so, yes."

"Well," Sir Anthony grinned, "I'm nothing if not a slave to his education. What a selfless pair we are, Mrs Crawley."

At the side of the ballroom, Lady Helen was watching this new development with interest, her _lorgnette_ held up to her eye as if she were in the front row of a new and engaging play.

The Strallan boy seemed quite smitten with his secretary. He was _certainly_ holding her closer than even the waltz's hold strictly demanded. Not that his pretty partner seemed to be _objecting_, it had to be admitted. Lady Helen was eighty-five at her next birthday and the mother of five daughters; she knew well what those sorts of blushes and smiles meant on the face of an unmarried woman - and, it had to be admitted, even sometimes on the face of a _married_ one. It was all _most_ interesting.

Training her _lorgnette_ around the room, Lady Helen fixed it next on Anthony's mother. Dear Phillip had married beneath him, of course - everyone knew that - but Anne had not been such a poor mistress of Locksley as the county had been expecting. In fact, she had made rather a success of it. Helen watched her watching Anthony and Mrs Crawley and noted the faint look of approval and pleasure on her face, almost like a woman looking upon her son and daughter-in-law.

Even _more_ interesting. Perhaps Anthony had inherited his father's somewhat unconventional taste in women. Even so, this sort of thing really was beyond the pale. Oh, the Crawley girl was nice enough, she supposed, polite and clearly in possession of a brain, nothing _objectionable_ about her, but she was not exactly the most sensible choice for a man in Anthony's position. Perhaps it was the Grantham connection that had attracted him. Yes, that would be it.

Still, carrying on like that in public with one's staff was not the done thing at all. If they were engaged - which did not seem unlikely, given Anne's behaviour towards them - why not announce it and have done? Lady Helen shook her head a little. Tremendously odd. And if they didn't do something about it soon, then those less observant than she herself would begin to notice - and people could be terribly cruel and gossipy about things like this, particularly in the countryside, when everyone knew everyone else. Eyebrows would be raised. _Assumptions_ would be made. Anthony mightn't suffer from it at all - men, after all, would be men, and no one would blame him for engaging in a brief dalliance - but the Crawley girl might, and Helen guessed from their brief interactions in the past that she was the sort of sweet creature who was likely to be horribly wounded by any sort of unpleasantness.

Helen sighed. Someone ought to say _something_. Not to Anthony himself, of course, nor to Anne. He would bluster, and she would deny everything. No use speaking to the Crawley girl, either - such a blushing, mousy creature. No, someone of sense was needed here, someone who knew both of them well enough that she could impart some kindly advice, and not be instantly thrown out, someone like…

"Ah, Claudia, my dear, good evening."

* * *

"So," Matthew smiled as he one-stepped Sybil around the floor, "is wedded bliss living up to expectations?"

Sybil smiled broadly. "More than. Tom's a darling - and he's being so helpful to Richard these days, with Mary being so out of sorts."

"Oh?" Matthew lifted a polite eyebrow, quite at odds with the way his stomach was churning. "She's… not ill, is she?"

Sybil hastened to reassure him. "Oh, not any more ill than ladies tend to get, when they're expecting. Funny, isn't it, that last Christmas Lavinia was so sick, and now it's Mary's turn!"

Matthew turned shocked eyes on her. "Mary's… _in the family way_?"

"Yes," Sybil confirmed. "That's why she and Richard decided to stay in London this Christmas. Didn't they tell you when they wrote?"

"N-no. I don't think so." He forced a smile. "Mary… wrote to Lavinia, not to me. She may have told her. When is she… how far along…"

"About five months'," Sybil smiled. "A little April baby. Isn't it such lovely news? Richard's tickled pink."

"Yes," Matthew forced out. "Just lovely."

"Only don't start spreading it around, will you?" Sybil pleaded. "Mary's being so secretive about the whole thing, she'd have my hide if she thought I'd been so indiscreet, even with you." She shrugged. "I suppose that's what happens, when you've been married for six years and this is your first. It's such a long time to wait for a baby, isn't it, if you want one?"

"A very long time," Matthew agreed quietly, a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

"Well, that was a lovely evening," Lavinia smiled quietly at Matthew as he poked his head around the nursery door. She was sat in the rocking chair, cradling a sleepy George. "Happy New Year."

"And to you. I… missed you downstairs, when the clock struck."

"I slipped up here just to check on our little troublemaker, and he took his chance and woke up for a feed," she shrugged. "I'm sorry."

Matthew bent and kissed her forehead. "Not at all. Happy New Year to you, old chap," he added, stroking a finger along George's temple, and brushing aside a few wispy golden curls. "Shall I put him down for you?"

"Thank you." Lavinia kissed the baby's head and let his father take him back to his crib. By the time Matthew had turned around, she had stood and neatened her gown.

"By the way, did you know cousin Mary was expecting?" Matthew asked lightly as they stepped out on to the landing.

Lavinia gave him a slightly startled smile. "Oh, yes. That's why she and Sir Richard didn't come for Christmas. Didn't I mention it to you?"

"No, you didn't."

His voice came out somewhat sharper than he had intended; Lavinia stopped, eyes wide. "Have I… done something wrong?"

Matthew let out a breath and forced a smile. "No, of course not. Sybil mentioned it to me, when we were dancing, that's all. I was… surprised. Coming to bed, darling?"

"Y-yes," Lavinia nodded. "Only… go on without me, won't you? I have a horrid feeling I've left my gloves downstairs, and Westlock will scold when she comes to undress me."

"One sometimes wonders," Matthew rolled his eyes humorously, "who is the mistress, and who the maid."

"Yes," Lavinia laughed lightly. "You're perfectly right."

He pressed a kiss to her cheek and was gone.

The Countess waited until her husband was all the way along the landing and had turned the corner into the corridor where their room lay before she allowed her face to crumple into tears.

It had been a horrid trick to play, she knew, and in the end, she hadn't even been there to see his face when he had found out. But, as it turned out, that hadn't been necessary. His shock and confusion, yes, and his fear were still filling his eyes. She didn't think Matthew realised how well she knew him, even after six years of marriage. He couldn't have hidden something like this from her, even if he thought she were suspicious enough for him to _need_ to hide it.

She had known when she had married him that there had been something still there between him and Mary. But she had been foolish enough to believe that he loved her too, or at least cared for her sufficiently to avoid this sort of mess.

She had thought she had managed it. And then, that little letter from her cousin, just before George had been born - _I saw your best beloved in Oxford Street yesterday afternoon with his cousin Mary, but not to say hello to… _\- and then when she had asked Matthew whether he had seen anyone interesting, once he had got back, he hadn't mentioned Mary at all. It was _that_ that had made her go cold all over, and start to think back over all those trips to London Matthew had been making over the last year. That week he had spent away from Downton with friends, around the time Sybil had been arrested. Had she been _utterly_ foolish?

Apparently she had.

Even if he were not the father of Mary's child, Lavinia reflected, mopping her eyes with her handkerchief as she went downstairs to retrieve the forgotten gloves, Matthew clearly believed there was a possibility that he might be.

And wasn't that enough to destroy _any_ marriage?


	68. Rumours and Resolutions

"Happy New Year, Baines," Flora smiled at the butler as Orton's front door opened to admit her and Veronica.

"And a happy New Year to you too, my lady, madam." Baines bestowed on his mistress a rare smile. "A pleasant evening?"

"_Lovely_, thank you." Flora slid off her cocoon coat into his waiting arms.

"Coffee in the library, my lady?"

"No, thanks, Baines," Veronica interrupted, removing her top hat* and tossing it a little carelessly onto the Georgian side table. "I think we're going straight up. What time is it, anyway?"

"Just past two o'clock, madam," Baines replied, collecting the hat with a masterfully supressed wince and smoothing it with his gloved hand before hanging it and the coat on the hatstand.

"God," Veronica groaned, stretching like a cat. "I'm far too old for this sort of thing. Get yourself to bed, Baines, do - we'll lock up."

"Thank you, madam." In slightly warmer tones, he added, "Good night, my lady."

"Good night, Baines."

Veronica watched him vanish behind the green baize door that led down to the kitchens and then took Flora's hands. "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, my darling." Flora smiled. "The first of many, I hope."

"Oh, _definitely_." Veronica rummaged in her coat pocket and pulled out a slightly crushed sprig of mistletoe. "I… ah, liberated this from the Abbey."

"Did you really? Thief." Flora smirked. "And what _exactly_ are you intending to do with it, I wonder?"

"This, as it happens." Veronica held it out above them and leaned up to kiss Flora, backing her, as she did so, into the sheltered alcove under the stairs.

When they finally drew apart, after a most delicious interlude, Flora was gasping for breath and Veronica's lips felt swollen and almost bruised. "Shall we go up?" she murmured into Flora's neck.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" Flora teased.

"Yes." Veronica's reply was blunt and immediate, and followed a moment later by a slightly more hesitant, "Is it working?"

Flora's giddy laugh was her only response. As they walked up the stairs, hand in hand, Veronica added, "Anthony seems to be getting better at seduction, too. Did you see him and Edie on that dance floor?" She let out a low, long, approving whistle.

"Quite," Flora agreed. "There'll be some raised eyebrows if they aren't careful."

"Well, let's hope that by next January, they'll be happily married and ensconced in their own little love nest too."

"Heavens!" Flora exclaimed mischievously at the bedroom door. "Who is this incorrigible romantic and whatever have you done with my staid and stern Veronica?"

* * *

New Year's Day was spent at Locksley; Pip and Anthony went out with the guns, Tom, and the Earl of the Grantham, while Edith, Lady Strallan, and the Downton ladies spent the morning in taking tea and playing cards and gossiping. Following lunch, they were all currently engaged in poring over fashion magazines. In addition to her lovely brooch, Edith had received a length of wool suiting from her generous employer, and the ladies were eager to help her choose a pattern.

"Well," said Isobel, tapping one of the magazines. "I like this one. Not too narrow, very practical."

Sybil smiled in fond exasperation at her. "But what if Edith wants something _impractical_, Isobel? Something _extravagant_?" She had been advocating for the last half hour for a skirt in the height of fashion - hobbled and with a somewhat ridiculous train behind.

"With two and a half yards of wool tweed?" Lady Strallan asked dryly.

"Lavinia, I'm right, aren't I?" Isobel protested.

There was silence, and then the Countess, who had been staring into space, unheeded, for several minutes, shook herself, blinked and asked, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"That Edith should choose something practical that she'll get plenty of wear out of," Isobel repeated. "Are you all right, my dear?"

Lavinia's mouth quirked upwards at the edges, but Edith would not have quite called it a smile. "Yes, of course. What do you think, Edith?"

Edith, curled up on the Turkish rug at her mother's knee, the fabric in question piled on her lap - there being no other space for her - feigned a look of surprise. "Oh, so I _am_ being given a vote, then?"

The ladies laughed, and Cora stroked her middle daughter's hair. "Of course, darling - as long as you choose what we choose."

More laughter. "Perhaps - " Edith began, but was interrupted by the library door opening and the gentlemen returning.

"Heavens," Sir Anthony smiled, "is this my library or a Paris fashion house?"

"Oh, Sir Anthony," smiled Sybil, getting up and taking the magazines to him, "you can help us. What are employers looking for in their secretaries' wardobes this season?"

"Oh, Sybil - " Edith began, a little alarmed, but Sybil flapped a teasing hand at her.

"Hush, Edith," she smiled (a trifle wickedly), "Sir Anthony will be the one likely to suffer most, if it all turns out horridly. I think he ought to have a _little_ say, don't you?"

Anthony huffed out a slightly awkward laugh. He could sense his mother watching him with interest out of the corner of his eye, and Edith's red-faced embarrassment, too. "I think, Mrs Branson, that your sister will look very well in whatever she chooses."

Behind him, Matthew chuckled. "Ever the diplomat, Sir Anthony. I think there's a lesson or two there for us, hmm, Tom?"

Mrs Cox came in the tea things and the magazines were cleared away to find space for the gentlemen. Mrs Crawley excused herself to powder her nose and Edith was ushered into her chair. "I hope that was an appropriate answer?" Sir Anthony asked at her shoulder.

She shot him an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. Sybil is… utterly incorrigible when she has the bit between her teeth about something." At his look of polite confusion, she added, "And unfortunately, at present, that 'something' is the ridiculous idea that we would, well, you know."

"Ah." He frowned. "I see. But… she doesn't… disapprove?"

"No, not at all," Edith sighed. "She's very enthusiastic."

Sir Anthony gave her a slow, warm smile. "Well, that's… something to bear in mind, isn't it?"

"Sir?" Edith asked. What on _Earth_ was that supposed to mean?

"Anthony? Edith?" Lady Strallan called. "Come along, my dears, or we shall have eaten everything without you."

* * *

The rest of the holidays passed off very quietly. Edith made her skirt and debuted it to a suitably impressed and complimentary Sir Anthony and Pip, and enjoyed being at leisure to do nothing more than to please herself.

It was heavenly.

A large part of this, Edith was at length forced to acknowledge, was that she was spending a significant proportion of time in the company of a man who found her attractive and, within the bounds of propriety, made no secret of the fact. Added to which, the man in question was intelligent and funny and utterly charming. The hours and days ran in to one another in a blur of laughter and conversation and games of chess and long walks and delicious meals.

In short, being with Sir Anthony like this, when neither of them was working, when they were just… _being_ together, with Pip… it was giving her rather a delightful insight into what life might be like if they ever… did what Sybil and Lady Strallan hoped they would.

It would be perfectly _lovely_, wouldn't it?

And because she had been shy and nervy and frightened and _idiotic_, it would quite probably never happen.

* * *

On the afternoon of Twelfth Night, when the decorations had been taken down, and the last crumbs of Christmas cake had been polished off and Edith was beginning to wonder what would be for dinner that evening now that all the turkey had gone too, Molly tapped on the library door, bobbed a curtsey and announced, "Lady Gervas is here to see you, Mrs Crawley."

"Oh?" Edith blinked up from the accounts ledger. "Does she say what she wants, Molly?"

"No, miss." Cheerfully, Molly tried, "Perhaps something to do with the Fete?" Strangely, she seemed to have blossomed in those few weeks since Mr Everington's impoliteness. Perhaps, Edith thought, taking on more responsibility since Mrs Dale's illness had helped there.

"Yes, you're probably right. If you have a moment, Molly, can you go down to the village for me later and deliver these?" Edith held up a little stack of letters. "Just payment for some of the household accounts. I know I can trust you to see that they get there safely."

Molly's eyes lit up with pride. "Of course, miss. Right away." Scooping the letters up, she strode purposefully from the room looking almost a head taller than she had done on entering. Edith and Sir Anthony exchanged smiles as he rose from his desk. "Well, if it's Fete talk, I'll get out from under your feet, my dear."

"Worried that you'll be conscripted, sir?" Edith asked wryly.

"Am I truly so obvious?" he wondered, and opened the door, gesturing Lady Gervas in as he did so.

"Hello, Claudia," Edith smiled, rising from her chair. "I'm glad you've dropped in - I want your advice on champagne for the Fete."

"Hello, Edith, my dear." Claudia kissed her cheek a little more clumsily than usual, and when Edith drew back, she saw that her friend looked about to burst with joy.

"Whatever is it?" With a raised eyebrow, she joked, "Champagne's not that exciting, is it?"

"Is it true, my dear?" Lady Gervas almost exploded. "Of course, I can understand why you mightn't want to announce it to the world just now, but you could at least have let your friends in on the secret! It's so _thrilling!_"

"I'm sorry, Claudia," Edith confessed as they went to the sofa, "but I've no earthly idea what you're talking about."

"Well - you and Anthony being _engaged_ to each other, of course! How many other secrets are you keeping, Edith?"

Edith sank down with a heavy _flump!_ into the sofa's squishy, well-used cushions, quite white. "Edith?" Claudia fretted. "Whatever is it? I'm not _cross_, if that's what - "

"Who told you we were… you know?" Edith interrupted, turning dazed eyes on her.

Slowly, Claudia sat down next to her. "Well, I was talking to Helen Spalding at the Abbey ball and… she seemed to think that you and Anthony were secretly engaged. That you were behaving as if you were, and she seemed to think that some sort of announcement would be forthcoming…" She trailed off, looking rather disappointed. "Do you mean to say that you _aren't_ engaged?"

Edith shook her head, giving her a soft little smile. "No. Nothing of the kind." Her face clouded over. "But… thank you for warning me, Claudia. We both might have been exposed to some very nasty gossip, otherwise. I'm very grateful to you."

Claudia clucked impatiently. "Stuff and nonsense! Helen wasn't being _cruel_ \- if anything, she seemed to rather _like_ the prospect of it, which is a victory for anyone. She was only concerned about the _secrecy _of it, with no formal connection to excuse…" She broke off, blushing, and Edith finished her sentence, in heavy tones.

"With no formal connection to excuse the improper… intimacy that we were foolish enough to display. Yes, I quite see."

"Oh, now I've upset you," Claudia worried.

"No, no," Edith forced brightly. "Not at all. I'm grateful, as I said. We - _I__ -_shall be more circumspect in future."

Claudia squeezed her hand. "If you ask me, it would be much the best thing if you _were_ to marry him, my dear. Every one of our friends agrees. You seem to get on so well with the staff here, and you're _wonderful_ with Pip. Locksley could do with having a mistress again. And… Anthony's not such a bad old stick, is he? Not stupid or cruel. He'd make a perfectly bearable husband, I think."

"Is that all he deserves?" Edith wondered archly. "A wife who thinks he's 'bearable'?"

"Well," Claudia smiled wickedly, "if you think he's _more_ than bearable, then you should _definitely_ take him, before he gets snapped up by some calculating spinster or widow with her eye on his purse and nothing else." She sighed. "Was it _really_ such a surprise, to hear that people think you'd be well-matched? That they assumed you were already? I thought you were brighter than that, my dear."

Edith winced. "No. Not such a surprise, I suppose." Anxiously, and suddenly somehow on the verge of tears, she admitted, "I think I've spoilt it all, though."

"How, my dear?"

"When Mrs Dale was ill, after we'd taken that wretched car back to Wolverhampton - I suppose Veronica told you about that?"

"With great glee, my dearest," Claudia smiled encouragingly.

"Yes, well, when we got back… I… I let him kiss me." Edith could feel the colour rising in her cheeks as she pressed on: "Well, I say 'let' - I'm afraid I was making all the advances. Utterly shameless of me."

"With a man like Anthony," Claudia advised dryly, "sometimes 'shameless' is what's needed to get him to see what's right in front of his nose."

Edith gave a watery chuckle and Claudia squeezed her shoulder in a motherly, comforting way. "There, now. That doesn't sound as if you've spoiled things. Anthony's no prig, after all."

"No. No, he isn't. But… _I_ _was_."

"What do you mean?"

"I lost my nerve." Edith shivered. "You know I - I _hate_ being talked about. So the morning after, I… I told him that we'd both got too many responsibilities to be wasting our time mooning over each other, and that we'd much better forget all about it." Edith gave a despairing groan and buried her face in her hands. "And - we _have_, of course, and we _should_ but…" Her voice dropped to a low, sheepish whisper that escaped from between her fingers. "But I - I - "

"You can't quite stop thinking about how nice that kiss was?" Claudia guessed, striking the metaphorical nail very firmly on its head.

"No," Edith shook her head and peeked out at her friend. "And how on _earth_ am I meant to explain that to Anthony?!"

Kindly, Claudia patted her hand. "I'm sure _everything_ will come right, my dear. No two people can like each other as much as you and Anthony do and not eventually end up very happy. I promise. For now… be sweet and charming and… give him a bit of encouragement. Let him work out that… well, you wouldn't be averse if he chose to… have another bite at the apple, so to speak. Nothing's been broken irreparably."

Edith gave her a hesitant smile. "Thank you, Claudia."

"Not at all. And if there's anything Hugh and I can do to - well, to herd Anthony into the right pen, just let us know. Now - did you say something about champagne?"

* * *

**AN: *Yes, V. wore 'top hat, white tie and tails' to the ball. Not sure any woman would have really got away with that in 1914, but I'm going with the excuse that she's a). among friends, and b). horribly rich. That always helps. Besides, when I was writing this chapter, she flatly refused to let me write her into a dress, and eventually I gave up trying.**


	69. The End of a Marriage

"Enid," Mrs Hughes sighed in exasperation as she looked at the pile of linen, "have you not made the bed in Lady Grantham's room yet?"

"Sorry, Mrs Hughes." Enid - a month into the job and still not terribly efficient - bobbed apologetically. Mrs Hughes was queen downstairs, just as Mr Carson was king, and Enid had a horrible feeling that sooner or later someone was going to shout, "Off with her head!" and that would be that. "I'll go up straight away."

"You'd better, my girl. It's nearly noon, and after luncheon, the ladies will be going up to change for the afternoon. And her ladyship won't want to find you still rootling around with her sheets, now, will she?"

"No, Mrs Hughes. Sorry Mrs Hughes."

Enid hurried upstairs with the pile of linen. She'd have done it already that morning, if she hadn't had so much trouble falling asleep the night before. Lizzy, who she shared a room with, slept like a top and snored like a drunken navvy, and neither of these things was conducive to the comfort of her room-mate. As it was, she'd finally drifted off somewhere around dawn, just before - or so it seemed - Daisy the scullery maid had knocked on their door to wake them. After breakfast, she'd gone up to fetch a clean apron, sat down on the bed for a moment and drifted away. Ever since, she'd been chasing her own tail to catch up.

Slightly out of breath from the stairs, Enid emerged from the servants' stair door and slipped into her mistress's bedroom. She always liked making the bed in here; Lady Grantham wore nice perfume and liked scented flowers, and as a result, the air was heady and heavy with scent, always. Enid inhaled deeply and with pleasure and got on with her work.

She'd just finished, and was smoothing down the eiderdown, so that it looked just like the top of one of Mrs Patmore's perfectly iced cakes, all smooth and empty, when she heard footsteps in the corridor - two sets, if she was any judge, and heading this way. And that was the mistress's voice and she sounded cross. Alarm spiked in Enid's chest. Even on a normal day, she wouldn't like to meet the Countess on the threshold of her own bedroom - servants, especially new, very junior housemaids, were meant to be absolutely invisible - and she _especially_ did not want to meet her mistress if she were in a temper for some reason.

So Enid did the only thing that was possible in the circumstances. She hurried to the door of Lady Grantham's private en suite bathroom, ducked inside, and pulled the door closed again just as the footsteps entered the main bedroom. Suppressing a shuddering sigh of relief, Enid perched herself on the curved lip of her ladyship's luxurious clawfoot tub and prayed that her mistress wouldn't be desirous of a wash before she changed for the afternoon. Otherwise, she might find herself in some _very_ hot water.

"Are you really trying to say that nothing's changed?" asked a man. "That you aren't… _cross_ with me for some reason?" That was his lordship's voice. Must have been the second set of footsteps. _Oh, no._ Enid really didn't want to sit here and listen to a quarrel. She'd heard too many marital spats at home, and they never ended pleasantly. Added to which, it was most embarrassing to be in possession of knowledge which proved that your employers, despite their exalted status, were human after all.

"I'm not going to be harangued in my own bedroom," replied her ladyship - all cool and crisp, not at all how she usually sounded. Against herself, Enid found her eye pressed to the keyhole. From what she could see, her ladyship was sat at the mirror on her dressing table, his lordship out of sight, behind her.

"I wasn't aware that you _were_ being harangued." His lordship's voice had suddenly got very hard and very remote. Enid shivered. If this were how toffs quarrelled with each other - all chilly politeness and big words - she felt almost sorry for them. There was the sound of a long, loud sigh as Lord Grantham exhaled all the air in his chest. "Please, Lavinia, tell me what is wrong."

The Countess sniffed, and when she spoke, her voice sounded thick and damp. "Tell _me_ about Mary Carlisle."

Silence. Dead silence. The silence that comes after the echoes of a gunshot or a glass shattering have finally faded away. And then his lordship whispered, stricken, "How… how did you find out?"

Her ladyship's laughter was high and unhinged. "You really do have the most ridiculously _smug_ sense of your own cleverness, don't you, Matthew? Everyone thinks you're so modest, so unassuming. If only they knew."

Enid frowned. She didn't think his lordship was smug. She didn't _quite_ know what the word meant, admittedly, but she could guess, from the way her ladyship had said it. Whatever could she mean? Enid shifted uncomfortably - the rim of a bathtub was not the most comfy of seats, it had to be said.

"You didn't hide yourself quite so well as you thought you did, you see." Her ladyship sniffed. "Jerry saw you and her in Oxford Street, a couple of months' ago. He wrote to me." Quickly, she added, "I don't think he suspected anything, of course. Darling Jerry, he always likes to think the best of people. I… I rather envy him that, you know."

"I see. And you…?"

"Not then. Or at least… I wasn't sure." She swallowed. "I wasn't _sure_ until the night of the ball, actually." Enid frowned. _Sure about what?_ In any case, _she_ was perfectly sure that this was not a conversation she ought to be overhearing.

"Since the…" His lordship let out a small noise or comprehension. "Ah. Of course. When I was so surprised to hear about… to hear that M- that she was unwell."

Another one of those hysterical chuckles. "How polite!"

"What gave me away?" Lord Grantham wondered.

"I know you too well, Matthew. Better than you know me, I think. It was written all over your face." With a voice that shook, she asked, "How likely is it that it's yours?"

"'It'?" his lordship replied, almost viciously. "It's a _life_, Lavinia, even if you - "

Enid only just got her hand clamped across her mouth in time to stifle a gasp. Fortunately, any sound that might have escaped and betrayed her was well-muffled by her ladyship's much louder indignant exclamation. "Are you _really_ going to - to _quibble_ with me over semantics, Matthew?"

"No, that… that came out… poorly."

"Well?" her ladyship asked after a moment. "Is… is _he or she_ yours?"

"I… don't know. I can't be sure." Enid heard a rustling as if someone was running a hand briskly through their hair - his lordship presumably. Through the clanging wallop of shock that Life had just dealt her, Enid admitted to herself that she felt like doing the same thing - and more.

Her ladyship made a small, muted noise and his lordship managed, through what sounded like gritted teeth, to add, "I'm… aware of what a cad that makes me sound."

"Oh, _are_ you?" Lady Grantham's words dripped poison.

"We did… I did…" His lordship stopped and took a steadying breath. "I… _took precautions_. Please don't think I didn't."

His wife scoffed. Enid wanted to clamp her hands over her ears - this was most _definitely_ the kind of conversation that Mrs Hughes would deem entirely unsuitable for them - but she couldn't seem to make her fingers move from where they were clenched, almost painfully, over the rim of the tub. "Is that meant to make me feel _grateful_?"

"No, I… I just… want you to know that I wasn't… acting thoughtlessly or…"

"Oh, this was _premeditated_ adultery. I _see_."

"God, I don't seem to be able to say anything right today, Lavinia."

For a while after that, there was silence, blessed silence, as everyone absorbed the altered situation they had quite suddenly and unexpectedly found themselves in. "Are you still s-sleeping with her?" Lady Grantham managed eventually.

"No." This, firmly and emphatically.

"What - did she throw you over?"

"No." His lordship chuckled, brief and wry. "She… _does_ love Carlisle, you know. That's the devil of it. And… once George was born… things changed for me too. I realised how much - how much I care for you."

"Really? That's your excuse, is it? I fulfilled my ordained purpose as your wife, so I was to be allowed a crumb of your regard as… as - what? A _reward for good behaviour_?"

There was a flurry of skirts as if her ladyship had flown up from the dressing table, and Enid, peering awkwardly through the keyhole now, could feel her heart fluttering in panic at the thought that she might be about to be discovered. But then all the fight seemed to drain suddenly out of her ladyship again and she sank back down onto the stool.

Enid, beneath everything, felt a vague sort of patronising sympathy for her mistress, then, that despite all her wealth and her position, nothing had been able to protect her from the horrid realisation that men - whatever their station in life - generally behaved the same the world over. "Roaming tomcats, the lot of 'em," Enid's mother said - and she'd know, Enid thought, Dad being the way he was. She'd have never thought it of the master, though. Just went to show, she supposed. You never could tell.

"_No_! Lavinia, that was not what I - "

"I would _never_ have betrayed you, Matthew." Her hurt cut through the air like a knife. "Ever. Not under _any_ inducement."

Another one of those horrible, lingering silences. Enid began to wonder when it would ever end. If she were gone for much longer, she thought, Mrs Hughes might send someone up to look for her, or worse come up herself, and then what would happen? She would certainly be discovered, accused of eavesdropping, might even lose her place.

"So what happens now?" his lordship asked eventually.

"Well," her ladyship replied with a tartness that seemed wrong and out of place in her lovely, melodious voice, "I can't divorce you, can I?"*

"Would you," he asked timidly, "if you could?"

"No." At his lordship's sigh of relief, she snorted. "Don't think for one minute that it's because of any fond feeling for you. Unlike you, apparently, I still set some store by my wedding vows - I _promised_ 'till death do us part', and I _meant_ it."

"And… Mary?" he ventured.

A pause. "_Mary_ can die on the streets for all I care - if it were just her, I wouldn't think twice about it. But there are too many innocent people who have put their faith in your darling cousin. Cora relies on the Carlisle money. Even Edith does, at least a little. Neither of them have done anything wrong. Not to mention the fact that Tom Branson would most probably lose his job - oh, not immediately, not in any way that would draw suspicion, but he'd be ever so slowly, ever so _slyly_ pushed out. You forget, I grew up among businessmen. I know how their world works. And now there's a baby, too." Angrily, she twitched her sleeve straight and for a moment, the emotion broke through again: "So for their sakes, I will keep your mistress's _filthy_ little secret." A pause, and then she burst out: "Did you think _nothing _of all the lives you could be ruining when you were - " She stopped, apparently unable to say the words.

"A separation, then?" he croaked.

"That would be just as scandalous as a divorce. George… George doesn't deserve to grow up under that sort of cloud." She lifted a sardonic eyebrow, looking so unlike herself that his lordship took a step back. "I suppose you _do_ recall your son? And your poor _mother_, a widow who's already lost one child… if you think I would _ever_ do anything to hurt either of them, then you must have a very low opinion of me."

"On the contrary. I have the very _highest_ opinion of you." His lordship bowed his head. "I see now what a fine and honourable woman I have for my wife - and how _little_ I deserve you." Gravely, he met her eyes. "You may have anything you wish of me, Lavinia. Anything at all, and I will do it without question or murmur."

His wife dashed tears away from her eyes. "Can you turn the clock back, Matthew?" she whispered, her voice a pained, broken whimper. "Can you go back and undo it all?"

* * *

Anthony enjoyed winter afternoons. It was only recently, really, that he had begun to admit it to himself exactly how enjoyable he _did_ find them. Outside, it was raining, and the only sounds which had been heard in the library for the last hour were the comforting patter of raindrops against the windows and the roof, and the fire spitting and crackling warmly. All very cosy.

Of course, as ever, it was Edith that made everything that little bit sweeter. He couldn't quite have said why.

Sometimes, though, when they sat like this, in affectionate, companionable silence, it was all too easy to imagine what it might be like to be married to her. He couldn't imagine that anything would be very different, in all honesty. Except… well, they might be sat a tad closer to each other, perhaps. Perhaps every so often, he might reach out and squeeze her hand, or kiss her cheek or the top of her head as he rose to change his book or refill his pipe. But in all essentials… no, he thought that married life - married life with Edith - might be just like this.

"What are you beavering away at over there, my dear?" he asked at length. The afternoon was drawing on and - in lieu of anything more useful to do - he was leaning into the window seat, thoughtfully smoking his pipe and glancing over _The Times_, while his secretary was at her desk, sorting through a box of something.

Edith lifted up the box, and he saw that it was filled with dozens of photographs. "Oh… didn't I tell you? Lady Strallan asked me to look out some pictures of you and Mrs Chetwood as children, before she came at Christmas. She took some back to London with her, but… well, she didn't want _all_ of them, and I thought there might be some nice ones here to show Pip. You know how he likes to hear about what you were like as a boy." Thoughtfully, she added, "Perhaps I shall make a bit more of an effort to catalogue all the photographs and paintings and things this year."

"Good idea." He reached out a hand to her. "Go on, then, show me the worst."

"The worst, sir?"

"Of the photographs. Do I get a veto?"

"They're _delightful_, all of them," Edith reproved mildly. "Look - " She stood and came to stand at his shoulder at the window, presenting him with the cards.

On the top card, a boy no older than two, with a flop of curly hair, perched on his mother's lap. He wore a dress. Anthony groaned, screwing his eyes up. "Good Lord, I'm not even in short trousers!"

Edith giggled at his blushes. "I think you look _very_ sweet. What lovely hair! I only wish the photograph were in colour - I think you were even blonder then than you are now, sir."

He shook his head, scratching ruefully at his eyebrow with one long forefinger, and chose not to reply. "Did my mother only leave us with the awful, embarrassing ones?" he wondered instead.

"No." Edith rolled her eyes at him. "In fact… look. I think this one may be my very favourite." Her fingers brushed his as she sorted through the pile and Anthony swallowed, his mouth a little dry for some reason.

_This_ photograph had clearly been taken much later - although there were flashes of the baby he had been, the person here was a young man on the verge of adulthood. Twenty, perhaps twenty-one. There was still the same flop of soft hair, but the slight pudginess of early childhood had completely vanished, replaced with a gangliness just turning to solid, masculine strength. He wore crisp cricket whites, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing lightly muscled forearms. His two companions were reasonable-looking boys, too, Edith supposed, but even twenty years ago there had been a certain indefinable _something_ about Anthony Strallan that made him stand out from the crowd - and that certainly made her tummy hop and fizz whenever she looked at him.

"You… _like_ this one? Goodness," he murmured, his voice a self-deprecating drawl, "what a bunch of young reprobates we were…"

"Perhaps." Her voice softened as she looked down at him, and Anthony was suddenly very aware of how terribly close they were, close enough that he could see the different colours in every individual strand of her hair, and each individual curl of eyelash that brushed her soft, creamy cheeks. "But very _handsome_ young reprobates," she admitted.

"And now only look at me!" he chuckled, a little awkwardly. "All grey and wrinkled. How are the mighty fallen!"

"Oh!" Edith looked suddenly alarmed. "That wasn't what I meant at all. I still think - " A rosy blush spread across her cheeks. "That is to say… I think any woman would agree that…" She stopped, chewing absently at her lip, and then finished, rather primly with: "Well, that you are quite… aesthetically pleasing, sir."

"Spoken like a true lover of art," Anthony managed, around the rush of foolish pride that had rushed up in his chest at her words. _She found him attractive. She, with her strong, stubborn, oh-so-kissable mouth, and glowing, expressive eyes, and perfect, womanly figure - _she_ found _him_ attractive!_ "But, you know, I really think that sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander…"

"Sir?" Her eyes were wide as she waited for him to explain.

"Well, if you _insist_ on showing all of these to Pip… then I think we should see some of you in your youth, too." She would have been an imp of a girl, he was certain - all unruly curls and mischievous smiles. He liked that side of her, when flashes of it appeared, quite as much as he liked the strong, sensible efficient parts of her.

"All right, but I don't think there are many." Edith shook the photographs briskly back into order and placed them gently back into their box. Over her shoulder, she confessed, "I never much liked having my photograph taken."

"Why?"

"I suppose…" Edith slipped into the space next to him on the window seat and curled her legs up, resting her forehead against the window. She sighed and then continued, "Well, I knew I wasn't as pretty as Mary or Sybil. I was just… the odd one with the unmanageable hair and the ever-so-slightly disconcerting expression." She gave him a funny, lop-sided smile and Anthony's hand found hers across the velvet seat and covered it.

"You're right," he agreed. "You aren't _pretty_, my dear - nothing so boring and prosaic."

"I shall take that as a compliment, Sir Anthony," she ventured with an arch smile.

"It was very much intended as one, my dear." His voice was very low and rumbling and Edith felt her arms and the back of her neck ripple with gooseflesh at the soft thrill of excitement his words left with her. He opened his mouth as if on the verge of saying more, and then sighed, smiled, squeezed her fingers… and closed it again. "And now I ought to get going," he said, quite normally, and stood up. "Or I shall be late collecting Pip from school."

* * *

**AN: *In Britain, before the Matrimonial Causes Act 1923, a woman (unlike a man) could not petition for divorce solely on the grounds of her husband's adultery; she would also have to have some additional reason. This is the sort of historical fact that that 'flames on the side of my face' GIF was invented for.**


	70. A Brewing Scandal

"Sir? Sir Hugh on the telephone for you."

"Thank you, my dear." As Edith smiled and pattered past him back down the library passage, Anthony couldn't help watching her go: the swish of her skirt, the glint of sunlight on her golden hair, the phrase of Mozart she was humming…

"Anthony," Hugh announced, forcing him to pay attention, "we should go out for a drink on Friday. You know, while our women-folk are otherwise occupied terrifying the road-users of Yorkshire."

"I don't exactly think Mrs Crawley is - is - that isn't - "

"She's as good as, isn't she, old chap?" Hugh blustered cheerfully. "What I _mean_ is… well, while the cats' are away, there's no need for the mice to wait patiently at home for them, is there?"

"Well, no, I suppose not." Anthony smiled. "Go on, then. That… would be rather nice, Hugh."

"Good chap! What about… the Horse and Hounds, in York? Reasonable place, or so I hear."

"Yes, all right. Shall we say… seven?"

* * *

"Is that Anthony Strallan? Anthony, old man, over here!"

Anthony winced as the braying tones of John Challender echoed across the bar. Straightening his shoulders - and praying that Hugh wouldn't be too long in arriving - he turned to confront Challender. They'd moved a little in the same circles, in years gone by, but he wasn't exactly the sort of man with whom Anthony enjoyed close association.

"Hello, John. How are you? And… I'm sorry, I've forgotten your wife's name…"

"If only I could do the same! Ha!" Challender slapped Anthony on the back. "You're looking well, _very_ well. S'pose it's all the doing of that gorgeous little piece you've got typing your letters. Saw her at the Grantham ball, New Year." He leaned back in his chair and exhaled a satisfied cloud of cigar smoke. "_Very_ nice. I think you've struck gold there, old man." This was imparted along with a suggestive, sharp nudge to Anthony's ribs.

Anthony's jaw tightened. "It's true, I have the highest regard for Mrs Crawley's abilities." Generally, he hated to be impolite, but if Challender carried on for much longer, Anthony thought, he might well find himself wringing the other man's neck.

"Hmm. _Abilities_? Ah, the _ingenious_ type, is she?" Challender chuckled, a lewd, foul noise. "My wife said one of the harpies at her Phil. and Lit. Society thinks you're going to put your neck into the old matrimonial noose for her. Funny, isn't it, how the stupidest females always turn out to be the ones who think they're educated?"

"Ah, Anthony! There you are, old man! Sorry I'm late!"

Never had Hugh's bluff, hearty tones been more welcome. Anthony allowed himself to be steered firmly away to the other side of the bar and plied with a glass of brandy. "Looked as if you needed fishing out there, old boy," Hugh confided, tapping the side of his nose knowingly. Anthony couldn't help a grudging smile.

"Thanks, Hugh. He was… quite rude."

"Bloody little tick," his friend replied easily. "Claudia can't stick him - something to do with his wife. Nothing against _her_, you understand," he added hastily, "but I gather that Challender doesn't quite play the game with her, if you see what I mean."

"Quite." Anthony drained his glass through pursed lips.

"Get you another?" Hugh inquired, nodding helpfully at the glass. "And then you can tell me what he'd said to get you all riled up."

"Oh… something and nothing." A moment's silence, and then he admitted, "A load of vile insinuations about Ed- Mrs Crawley."

Hugh Gervas might not have been quite as intelligent as the woman he had had the privilege to call his wife for the past twenty-five years, but nor was he, by any reasonable measure, stupid either. He could quite easily guess the main thrust of Challender's bile and it made his cheerful, rosy face close up in distaste. "Bloody little tick," he repeated, for want of anything more helpful to say, and fetched his friend another drink.

"Look," he said sagely, a while later, "Challender's full of dirt - but you oughtn't to listen to him, old man. Some people just haven't a nice word in 'em. The rest of us know it sometimes takes a chap a while to whack up the ginger* to pop the question to a girl - 'specially in your situation." He slung a brotherly arm around Anthony's shoulders, lubricated into giving advice by the three brandies he had by this point enjoyed. "Yes, all right, there might be a bit of talk just now, but it's good-natured in the main. Everyone likes her, after all - and you, come to think of it - and they'll crowd round and give you a jolly good pat on the back once you've… well, once you've regularised things." Another, slightly clumsy tap to the side of his nose. "Mark my words, old boy. Be good to see you settled again. Wife and babies - keeps a man yo-_hic_ \- young."

Anthony's mouth had gone quite dry, and all he could do was haul Hugh to his feet and help him stagger outside to hail down a cab. "G'night, An'ny," Sir Hugh managed.

"Good night, Hugh. And may Claudia have mercy on your drunken soul!"

Friend dispatched safely homewards, Anthony strolled back along the street to the mews where the Rolls was parked. Hugh - and Challender, _damn him to Hell!_ \- had given him much to think about, none of it particularly pleasant.

By the sounds of things, then, the whole county had settled it amongst themselves that he and Edith were conducting some sort of clandestine - albeit ill-concealed - liaison, one that would shortly, as Hugh had put it, become 'regularised.'

And what would happen when no regularisation was forthcoming, Anthony was _painfully_ aware. Oh, _he'd_ be all right - men always were, he reflected bitterly - but Edith, lovely, innocent Edith… She would be shunned, at least by those who did not know her well. There would be mocking looks and snide comments and _gossip_, the thing she hated and feared most of all. And it was all his fault, because he found it so difficult to conceal how much he adored her.

How the crones of Yorkshire would laugh, if they found out that this torrid affair amounted to nothing more than a single, regrettably rather chaste, kiss on her part, and an awful lot of longing looks on his.

What a pathetic little damp squib it really was!

Not that _that_ would stop the inevitable storm-clouds from breaking over their heads, though. Edith had made it perfectly clear that no further romantic overtures would be appreciated, so the obvious solution - that of a quiet, solemn proposal and a hasty wedding - was certainly not going to fly.

"Can a wedding ring really fix everything?" Maude had asked him once, breathless from kisses and astonishment.

"Yes," he'd promised - and wasn't it funny, that the second woman he'd ever loved had proved him a liar to the first!

No, a wedding ring couldn't fix this mess, he reflected sadly, as he started the Rolls and pulled away. Bur what else could be done?

By the time he had reached Locksley, a plan had begun to form. What was needed was space and distance, and time to let the rumours die down a little. What if he sent Pip to London early, for the Easter holidays, rather than than waiting for the summer? Mrs Crawley could go down as chaperone, and be on hand for the birth of Lady Carlisle's baby. She might even stay for a month or so - and by the time she came back, the gossips would have found someone else, some_thing_ else, to fix their disquieting attention on.

Yes, this was by far the best possible plan. Edith need never know what had led to it, after all, would never need to be distressed by it, would never know anyone had ever said anything unpleasant about her. And then, when she came back, he would have had ample time to get himself under control - at least to the extent that he would be able to prevent a reoccurrence of such ridiculous behaviour on his part.

* * *

"Have a word with your sister, will you, Mark?" his father grunted over the paper.

"Why? What's wrong with her n-_ow!_" Everington winced and rubbed at his ear, which had just received a sharp clip.

"Look, you want to chuck up a perfectly good job and come and lay about in your ma's kitchen for weeks, you can pull your weight when you're asked without belly-aching about it!" Everington senior snapped. "She's quiet. Upset about summat. Been like it the last few days off she's had, too." He shook his head. "I'm worried them folks aren't treating her right, lords and ladies or not. You've got the brains in this house - you get it out of her, if you can. Now. You'll not have another chance before she has to start back."

Mark rolled his eyes and heaved himself up from the table. "All right, Dad. But you know what our Enid's like. Always making a mountain out of a molehill…"

He slouched through to the scullery. Enid stood at the sink, washing a plate, repetitive and lethargic, and staring distractedly out of the window. "Enid?"

She jumped and the plate slipped back into the water with a muted thud. "Careful! Mum'll have your guts for garters if you break her crockery!"

Enid forced a tiny smile. "Sorry. You made me jump."

Mark leant against the draining board, back to the window, and _hmm_-ed. "You have been a bit skittish, last couple of visits. Dad thinks there's something wrong. Thinks someone's been mistreating you, at work. That right?"

Enid went bright red and shook her head vigorously and unconvincingly. "N-no! You know what Dad's like - not happy unless he's worrying about someone."

"All right then. And… you like them, do you? Up at the Abbey? Lord and Lady Grantham?"

Enid shrugged. "They're all right. What would a junior housemaid know about it? I'm not all posh and clever like you, Mr Secretary!"

Mark snorted. "Is Lord Grantham looking for one of them, do you know? A secretary? Maybe if he is, you could put a good word in for me?"

Enid shrank further into herself. "You wouldn't want to go and work up there, Mark. Believe me."

Her brother seized on this as starving dogs seize on scraps tossed out of a back-door. "Ah, so there _is_ something going on!" Mark caught at her wrist and held her tight. "What is it?"

"Let go, Mark, stop being an idiot!"

He shook her, hard. "Not until you tell me what's got you so rattled!"

There was silence for a moment, while Enid tried, silently and thoroughly, to wriggle herself free, and her brother let his fingers tighten around her wrist until they both heard the bones creak. Then Enid, tears in her eyes, whimpered, "A-all right! All right, I'll tell you! Only… please let me go, Mark! You're hurting me!"

A moment longer and he slowly allowed his fingers to relax. Enid made a sharp, hissing noise as the blood flooded her hand again and clutched the bruised limb to her chest, backing herself warily against the pantry door.

"Well? Spill the beans, then, Enid. _I'm waiting_."

* * *

"Going down the pub, Dad," Mark announced without preamble.

Everington senior frowned. "Did you have a word with your sister?"

"Yes. It was just like I thought, Dad. Just Enid being Enid."

"Hmmm. That's all right then." His father looked over the tops of his spectacles, seriously. "Back before midnight, all right? Don't make your mother worry."

* * *

"Hello, operator? Put me through to the offices of _The Sketch_… The editor, please… Hello? Is that Michael Gregson? My name's Everington, Mark Everington. I think I have a story for you…"


	71. Stormclouds

"So your sister works for the Granthams." Michael Gregson leaned back in his office chair and lit the fourth gasper of the morning. "Why should that interest me?"

"It'd interest you if you knew how close his lordship is to his cousin," Everington replied carefully. He wasn't about to give everything away immediately, not without some guarantee of payment, anyway, but he was willing to throw out a small line. The sprat, to catch the mackerel.

"His cousin?" Was it just the light, or had he seen Gregson shift a little in his chair, those sharp eyes narrowing with a hint of interest.

"Yes. _Lady_ Carlisle. Only she's no such thing." Everington snorted. "She pretends to be all high-and-mighty, and really she's no different to the rest of us."

"In what way?"

"What's it worth?" Everington wondered.

"How can I name my price when I don't know what I'm buying?" Gregson countered.

Everington hesitated for a long moment. "Well," he murmured eventually, "wouldn't your readers like to know that while her sister was in prison, her ladyship was spreading those fine legs of hers for the Earl of Grantham?"

"And have you any proof of this?" Carelessly, Gregson shook ash from the end of his cigarette onto the carpet. "Libel cases don't come cheap, you know."

"How much proof do you want?" Everington asked. "Would a whole pack of letters do?" Enid hadn't wanted to do it, of course - being found rifling through the master's desk was a sacking offence at least - but she hadn't wanted to disappoint him, either. She knew from bitter experience what happened when she did. And she'd come up with the goods this time, all right.

"They might." Gregson shrugged, but it was too late. Everington had already see the gleam of greedy excitement in his eyes. "Depending on contents, of course. What makes you so eager to spill the story, then?"

"I used to work for Sir Anthony Strallan." Another ugly snort. "Hypocrite. He's bedding his secretary, a prim little madam called Edith Crawley, who's - "

" - Both sister to Lady Carlisle and cousin to his lordship." At Everington's look of surprise, Gregson's mouth curled into a wry, thoughtful smile. "She used to work for me, in fact."

"Then you'll know what an interfering _bitch_ she is," spat Everington with unconcealed venom. "She's the reason I no longer work for Sir Anthony. And now I want to see her and all her high-mighty family suffer for the hell she put me through. Do you understand?"

"I do indeed." Gregson extended his hand across the desk. "And I'd be more than delighted to assist you, Mr Everington."

* * *

"Edith? Darling, you'll come to the National Gallery, won't you?"

"I'm sorry?" Edith blinked up from her cup of tea at Lady Strallan's kind face, painfully like her son's.

The older woman's expression softened fondly. "I _said_, you'd like to come to the National Gallery, wouldn't you? I'm thinking of taking our young rascal tomorrow."

"Oh, yes." Edith forced a small smile. "If you think I can be useful, my lady." Pip was the sweetest child on Earth, but it had to be said that he was also something of a force of nature.

"Dear girl," Lady Strallan reproved, rather severely, "you're _on holiday_. I'm not inviting you to be _useful_, I'm inviting you because you'll have _fun_. Anthony says you're terribly fond of art."

"Does he?" Edith blushed a little, a mantling of rose-pink appearing on her somewhat pale cheeks.

"Yes!" Lady Strallan twinkled. "He was _very_ firm that I was to stop at nothing to make sure you got a healthy dose of portraits and landscapes while you were here."

"That's very kind of you, my lady."

Her employer's mother sighed. "What must I do to get you to call me 'Nancy', hmm? Or 'Anne', if you'd prefer something a bit more formal?"

"It wouldn't be proper," Edith demurred. "I'm… a family servant. I couldn't be so - so disrespectful."

"Wherever did you get a ridiculous idea like that, darling?" When Edith did not appear about to answer, Lady Strallan shook her head and eased herself to her feet. "All right. It just seems to me that we could have such a _cosy_ time together, if we could drop all of this silly formality. I don't call you 'Mrs Crawley', after all, do I?"

"As I have said," Edith whispered, "I am a servant in your son's house. My lady may call me anything she wishes."

Lady Strallan's hand was gentle against her shoulder. "Then I shall call you by your Christian name, as I would any other of my friends, and one day, I hope you will be able to do the same to me, my dear. Now, you must excuse me - Alice Whittaker has harangued me into dinner and if I don't go up and begin to change now, I'll never be on time."

"Of course, my lady." Edith bit her lip. "I'm sorry, for being so sulky."

"Not _sulky_, dearest girl. Never that." Those warm, papery fingers squeezed against her shoulder, comforting and motherly. "But you're a little in the doldrums today, I think, aren't you? What about a walk in the park before dinner, hmm? Blow away your cobwebs?"

"Yes." Relieved to have something that sounded vaguely like an order to follow - the first one in nearly a fortnight - Edith stood. "I'll just go and fetch my hat. And… I truly am sorry."

_Oh, my dear_, Nancy thought unhappily as she walked upstairs to her own rooms. _You're missing the man you love, and I could never blame you for _that_._

It had been almost a fortnight since Edith and Pip had arrived in London, ostensibly for their Easter holiday. Anthony's letter, which had preceded them by a week, told a different story. _There's been talk and Edith doesn't deserve to be exposed to it. Please don't say anything; I don't want her to worry about it. She'll blame herself, but it's my fault entirely._

Nancy had sighed and frowned over the letter for a considerable amount of time. "Your son," she had said disapprovingly to the photograph of Phillip that lived on her dressing table, "is too honourable for his own good. And we both know from whom he got _that_, don't we?" Phillip, preserved for ever at seventy-seven, the year before he died, simply looked solemnly back at her. She had other portraits of him, of course, but this… somehow, this one was her favourite. Her finger stroked idly over the glass covering it. "But you'd want him to be happy, wouldn't you, my dearest one? And you'd like Edith if you met her, you know, very much. Well, I shall see what I can manage."

The problem was, Nancy thought as she dressed, that Anthony had no real idea how the fairer sex operated. Not members of the fairer sex like Edith, anyway. She'd been sent away without explanation, and so naturally she blamed herself and assumed that she wasn't wanted or cared about, which was, of course, the precise opposite of what her son had intended. "I ought," she told Phillip's picture now, "to have ensured that Anthony had a really _rakish_ godfather. If I had, perhaps he'd have a little more confidence where women are concerned."

* * *

It had been a warm day - almost unseasonably warm for April, and by the time Edith had crossed the street and entered the park, she had already taken off her light coat and folded it neatly over her arm. She'd been rude earlier, and she was only lucky that Lady Strallan was the sort of kind, easy-going person that would not take offence. Tomorrow, she'd offer to take Pip to the National Gallery on her own and give her hostess a day of peace and quiet. Surely she could not be enjoying having her quiet routine disrupted so much, no matter how much she loved her grandson. And to have her son's secretary dumped on her as well! Doubtless there would have been a sharp reprimand sent to Sir Anthony about it. There had been no hint to Edith herself that she was unwelcome, of course, but how else could Lady Strallan possibly feel about it all, if not that?

Yes, her hostess really had been very accommodating, showing her to her room herself on her first night there. "Now, I know you have Di's old room at Locksley, my dear, so I thought we'd keep up the tradition here." She opened the door and gestured Edith through. "I hope you'll find it comfortable."

'Comfortable' wasn't the word. There was a bed larger than Edith thought she would ever need, a wardrobe that might have held all her worldly possessions if it had been called upon to do so and - holy of holies - a private en-suite bathroom done up in cool, mint green. The big sash windows looked out over the front of the house - "So that you can do some people-watching," smiled Lady Strallan. "That window seat is frightfully comfortable."

Edith had been able to do nothing more than stammer her thanks before her hostess had left her to unpack and refresh herself. "Have an hour to yourself, my dear, and we'll see you at dinner."

"Oh, but Pip - "

"I adore Pip, Edith dear, but any woman who can endure a train journey alone the length of the country with a thirteen year old deserves to be sainted on the spot. An hour's peace is the _very_ least I can offer you."

On the whole, then, it had been pleasant. It certainly could have been worse. She dined with Pip and Lady Strallan every evening, the servants - even Lady Strallan's terribly imposing butler, Mr Warrell - had been perfectly polite and accommodating, and she was apparently at perfect liberty to spend her days precisely as she wished. Any other woman would have been completely contented by such an unexpected holiday.

_Edith_ was thoroughly miserable.

Everything had been arranged so quickly, so smoothly, without even really consulting her until the last possible minute, that it was impossible to draw any other conclusion from it but the obvious one: that Sir Anthony was growing tired of her company, and embarrassed by the shadow of the kiss that they found still hanging between them at odd moments. So he had decided that having her out of his way - out of sight, out of mind - was much the best decision. And she hadn't been able to _refuse_, of course. It had practically been an order. "You'll have a marvellous time. Much nicer to be there at Easter, rather than in the summer, when it's so beastly hot and crowded. And you'll be there for when Lady Carlisle has her baby, too. I'm sure your mama will appreciate your help, won't she? Everything's always so at sixes and sevens', after a birth in the family."

So: "Yes, sir. If you like," Edith had managed, and began obediently to pack her things. And now it had been a fortnight: a whole fortnight without his smiles, or his jests, or his conversation, and she found she was missing him with an ache so real and deep that it felt like a hard, solid ball stuck in her throat every time he was mentioned.

Pip would be going home at the end of next week, ready for term to start again on the following Monday, but Edith had been encouraged to stay on and see the month (and her sister's labour) out. After that, she would not even hear about Sir Anthony through the frequent letters he had been writing to his son since they had arrived. Edith herself had sent nothing, though she made Pip sit down dutifully every evening and write an account of his day to his papa; she felt that intruding on his notice, even in writing would very much defeat his object in having sent her away.

Very kindly, Lady Strallan had invited her to stay on after Pip went home. "I so very rarely have visitors, my dear - not grown-up, interesting ones, in any case - and it's been so nice to have another woman about the place. A son just isn't the same as a daughter, and Diana is so far away." At Edith's hesitation, she had pressed, "And new babies are _lovely_, but you know you shan't get a wink of sleep with one in the house if you go and stay with your sister, and her with so much to do already."

_That_ had decided her. Edith didn't get along with Mary at the best of times, after all, and adding a lack of sleep and a new baby into the mix was, she was convinced, a recipe for disaster. She had accepted Lady Strallan's kind invitation. Surely she could make herself useful to her hostess, while she was there? Edith could never bear idleness, after all.

With a sigh, Edith looked back towards the house. It was already almost six o'clock. If she didn't hurry, she'd be late for dinner.

Inside the hall, Warrell was waiting for her. "Ah, Mrs Crawley, good. There's a gentleman on the drawing room telephone for you, miss."

"Oh? A gentleman, Warrell? Thank you." Perhaps it was Richard. A little anxiously, Edith hurried into the drawing room, tugging off her hat and setting her coat aside. Perhaps Mary had gone into labour early. Doubtless, her brother-in-law would want her close at hand. Much as she loved her Mama, Edith knew that she would be of little practical use in a pinch.

"Hello? Richard? Is it Mary?"

But it wasn't Richard who answered.

"No, my dear. It certainly is _not_."

Even over the telephone, she would have known that voice anywhere. A violent shiver ran down her spine. "What on Earth - ! _How did you get this telephone number?_"

Michael Gregson let out a leisurely chuckle. "I _am_ a journalist, you know, my dear."

"_Don't_ call me that!"

"Then what ought I to call you instead?"

"Nothing." Edith's voice cracked. "I never want to hear from you again. Good-"

He interrupted her. "Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you, sweetheart. Not if you don't want your family to be the talk of the town."

Edith paused, the receiver hanging suspended half way between her ear and the stand. Slowly, she lifted it back to her ear. "W-what do you mean?"

"Yesterday, I had an interesting visit. People tell me things, you know, especially when these things are scandalous, and could be profitable for them. And on this particular occasion, I heard something _very_ interesting."

"And are you going to tell me what this interesting thing was?"

"Temper, temper, dear-heart," he chuckled again and Edith felt herself going red with anger. Carefully, she inhaled to a count of five, held her breath, then exhaled to the same count. "Your sister hasn't been behaving at all like a lady," Michael tutted smugly.

"M-my sister?" Edith huffed out a relieved little laugh. "If you knew anything at all, you'd know that Sybil got married months ago, perfectly respectably. And if this is about her support for Mrs Pankhurst - "

"Oh, I wasn't talking about your resident firebrand - although I won't deny that _that_ little display did give me some amusement. I was actually referring to Lady Carlisle."

Edith sank into the armchair. "I have no idea what you can be talking about."

"Oh, that's good." Michael hummed. "_Very_ good. I remember that tone of voice. It was the one you always used to use when you were trying to get rid of someone I didn't want to talk to. Or…" He stopped, and Edith heard him laugh again, in disbelief. "Or can it _possibly_ be that Lady Carlisle has been so clever as to conceal all hint of her little _error_ from you all?"

"You are ludicrous," Edith proclaimed flatly. "I'm putting down the telephone now. Goodbye, Michael."

"Very well," he agreed, quite complacently. "But tomorrow morning, when your sister's lurid exploits are plastered all over the newspapers, don't try to say that I didn't attempt to warn you."

For the second time in as many minutes, Edith had to resort to focusing on her breathing. "Warn me about _what,_ precisely?"

"Your _sainted_ sister has been _disporting herself_ with the high-and-mighty Earl of Grantham."

"That's _ridiculous!_" Edith couldn't help herself. It was the only _possible_ reaction. "Not even _you_ could think I'd believe that piece of flummery, Michael."

"_I'm_ not asking you to believe anything, my dear girl," Michael drawled. "But there are a packet of letters on my desk that you might find most interesting."

"L-letters?" Edith whispered. "W-what do you mean?"

"I mean that your sweet sister has been frightfully indiscreet, my dear."

"_Stop calling me that_!" Edith gritted out. Then, unhappily, "I-indiscreet how?"

"'Indiscreet' in the way you were indiscreet with me, sweet creature. Is it a flaw in the women of your family, do you suppose?"

_Indiscreet_? And with _Matthew?_ Edith's head was swimming. "W-why are you telling me this?"

There was a silence and them Michael said, rather offhandedly, "I'd be willing to give them to you, you know."

"_Michael_." She had never expected this from him. Perhaps she had been unjust. Her heart thudded jumpily. "_Thank you_."

"Why thank me?"

She sighed. "Because you're doing something kind and generous and - "

"Kind?" And he laughed and it was cold. "My dear, I'm a _journalist_, not a philanthropist. Remember? What are _you_ willing to offer _me_ in return?"

"Michael, I d-don't have that sort of money - " There was no one else she could ask, after all. The only person she knew who might have even close to the sum required was _Richard_ \- and she could not got to _him_, especially not if, by some fluke, Michael were telling her the truth!

"No," he agreed. "But you _do_ have other… bargaining chips. Far more attractive ones that mere pounds, shillings and pence."

Edith's stomach rolled as his meaning hit. "That's blackmail!"

"Call it a _quid pro quo_, darling girl." He chuckled. "You scratch my back, and I will be _delighted_ to scratch yours. I'll send a note round sometime tomorrow to confirm a time and a place to meet. That is, unless you'd like to refuse me?" His voice faded at the last as if he were drawing the speaker away, preparing to end the call.

"No!" Edith blurted out, hating the almost-terror that had bled into her voice. Her voice dropped, defeated. "All right - I'll… I'll do it."

* * *

"Um… please, sir?" Molly's shy little voice at the study door made Anthony look up in surprise.

"What is it, Molly?"

"Um, a gentleman on the telephone, sir." Her face creased with worry. "I wouldn't have answered it, only Mr Stewart's still out…"

Anthony lifted a reassuring hand. "Not at all. Using your initiative, jolly good. I'll come through directly." Standing up, he asked, "And… you're finding your work manageable, Molly? I know… well, with Mrs Dale still a little fragile, and Mrs Crawley away… you're taking a lot on to your shoulders."

Molly blushed. "Thank you, sir, but… I'm right as rain. And… well, Mrs Crawley won't be away forever, will she, sir?"

Anthony's smile faded a little as he lifted the receiver. "No, no, of course not. But… do tell me, if you feel you need some extra, temporary help, won't you, Molly?"

Molly bobbed awkwardly and hurried away. Anthony lifted the receiver. "This is Sir Anthony Strallan speaking. Who is this? Roger? Hello, how are - ? Good, good. And Ellen? And the children?... Yes, yes, he's fine. In London with my mother, just now... Well, I hadn't planned to, no... Look, what is this all - ?... Well, think I've a right to know when I'm being summoned - " He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes, yes, all right. Tomorrow at three. And there had better be a damned good explanation for this, Roger..."


	72. Edith Makes A Bargain

**A/N: TW for this chapter for some violence and general lechery from Gregson.**

* * *

"Do forgive me, I seem to have overslept," Edith apologised as she swung the breakfast room door open the next morning. "I - _oh!_"

Edith stopped dead in the doorway. For, sitting alone at the breakfast table, casually perusing _The Times _and surrounded by the detritus of a hearty meal, was Sir Anthony.

He shot to his feet at the sound of her voice, dragging a hand through his perfectly neat hair. He was just in his shirt-sleeves, his jacket cast carelessly aside over the back of his chair and he looked (Edith tried to stamp down hard on the thought) _horribly_ handsome. "Good morning, Mrs Crawley. How are you?"

"G-good morning, sir!" They watched each other from opposite ends of the table for a moment and then Sir Anthony hurried around and drew out her chair for her. Edith sank unsteadily into it, her head half turned over her shoulder towards him as he tucked it back in for her too. "Th-thank you. H-how are you?"

"Very well, thank you." He did not return to his chair, however, but went to stand by the window, looking a little awkward. "My mother," he said, as Edith helped herself to tea and toast, "has taken Pip to the Natural History Museum. They should be back for luncheon."

"Ah. Wh-when… when did you arrive, sir? I… didn't know we were to expect you."

He let out a rueful huff of laughter. "Neither did I, until yesterday afternoon."

A jolt of panic shot suddenly through Edith, making her teacup quiver as she raised it to her dry lips. Had he, by some strange circumstance, heard about Matthew and Mary? Rushed to London to help in some way? Oh, she would _die_ if he ever found out, she knew it! "Oh-oh?" she managed. _God, why wouldn't her voice stop shaking?_ "A… sudden business meeting, sir?"

"Yes, something like that." He forced a brief smile. "Old university friend of mine, works for the Foreign Office now… wants to discuss something with me. We're meeting at three, so I thought I'd come here and beg a meal or two first from my long-suffering mama."

Relief flooded her. A shocking scandal this might be, but it was _not_, she thought, shocking enough to warrant the involvement of the Foreign Office. "I see."

"Have - have you been having a lovely time?" he wondered, after a moment.

Very carefully, Edith finished buttering her toast and set the knife down on the side-plate. "Yes." Her voice was clipped and brisk. "Hasn't Pip told you in his letters?"

Sir Anthony sighed and when Edith looked up, she saw that his face was creased almost sadly. "He told me what a lovely time _he_ was having, yes." The lines around his mouth deepened. "_You_ didn't write."

Edith huffed out a small laugh. "No. I didn't," she agreed. "I… didn't think any correspondence from me would be welcome."

"Mrs Crawley - "

"It's perfectly all right. You don't need to make any excuses."

Visibly, he deflated, like a punctured bicycle tyre. In silence, Edith finished her breakfast and then stood. He mirrored her. "Perhaps… we could walk round to the Natural History Museum together - meet Mama and Pip? You could… tell me all your news."

Edith sighed. "I don't think so. Pip ripped one of his shirts under the arm yesterday and I told your mother's maid that I'd fix it."

"You're on holiday, you shouldn't have to do that."

"I'd much rather be useful, truly. Everyone's been so very kind." At the door, she looked back, and forced a small smile. "I… hope your meeting goes well, sir."

"Thank you. I'll… see you at dinner, perhaps."

Edith opened her mouth to agree, and then remembered Michael. Doubtless he would want to have things settled as soon as possible. "No. I'm sorry. I… think I'm going to visit Mary and Richard and Mama this evening, so I suppose they'll feed me."

"Oh." He looked faintly disappointed. "Well… I doubt I'll be back for tea, so… have a lovely time."

* * *

"Ah, Anthony!" Roger rose from his desk and shook hands heartily. "Old man, you've no idea how pleased I am to see you. Do sit down. Shall I ring for tea?"

Anthony lowered himself carefully into the plush chair on the other side of the desk and shook his head. "No, thank you. Look here, Roger, what _is_ all this cloak and dagger routine about?"

Roger sat back in his chair, looking anxious. "Anthony, old man… dash it, you're an intelligent chap. Always have been. I'm sure you read the papers. Lot of fuss over in Europe, just now. Lot of damn fool nonsense over in the Balkans. Powder-keg."

Anthony swallowed and shifted in his chair. "I see. So… there's something in it, you think?"

"My dear chap, the slightest spark…" Roger trailed off and Anthony felt himself go cold all over.

"And where do I come in?" he asked, very quietly.

"Well… you speak excellent German, and if there's one thing we need to do now, it's to… to cement whatever ties we can with the Kaiser and his lot. Things have been calm - or as calm as they ever are - recently, and none of us want to be in a position where that… _changes_, for any reason."

Anthony frowned. "I'm sorry, Roger… I don't know what you're asking me."

"It would be useful if… well, if we could send a personable, well-educated, amiable sort of chap over there to… well, just to potter around and meet a few people and… report back to us."

There was a shocked silence. "Are you asking me to _spy_ for you, Roger?"

Roger waved a hasty hand. "Not - not to _spy_, precisely, old man! It would be more a… diplomatic mission. Bridge-building. English aristocrat, and all that." Roger pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, and Anthony saw for the first time how tired his friend truly was. "God, I'm not explaining myself well at all, I know. You could be of real help to your country here, though, Anthony, believe me."

"In Germany?" Anthony sighed. "You know I have Pip. And… well, my secretary is in London at present and won't be able to go back to Yorkshire with him for another few weeks… her sister's about to become a mother, and naturally she wants to be here for the birth…"

"Come now, he's not a babe in arms, is he? He must be, what, thirteen now? Practically grown-up. And your housekeeper's excellent, from what I remember." As Anthony opened his mouth to protest further, Roger leant forwards, his eyes suddenly very serious. "Anthony, _please_. Your country _needs_ you."

* * *

Michael's note, in the end, arrived just before lunch.

_My house, at half past 8. __Be ready to make a bargain.__ \- M._

Edith read through it quickly, twice, feeling thoroughly sick, and then heard footsteps in the passage. Hastily, she screwed up the missive and dropped it in the waste-paper basket.

"Not _still_ working, my dear? Just how many seams did Pip tear through?" Lady Strallan asked, poking her head around the door. "Come along, luncheon's ready and Pip has a hundred and one different things to tell you!"

"Just coming, my lady. Sorry." Quickly, she stepped past her.

"Everything all right, my dear?"

"Yes. Fine. Bit of a headache," she fibbed. "I might go for a walk later - clear away the cobwebs."

"Would you like Anthony to go with you?" Lady Strallan asked anxiously. "I hate the idea of chaperonage as much as you do, I'm sure, but… London isn't necessarily a safe place for a woman on her own…"

Edith gave her a weak smile. "No, thank you. I won't be long."

* * *

When Warrell rang the dressing gong, Edith went up to her room and changed. An old dress. Nothing that she would have to wear again. After tonight, she knew, she'd want to burn whatever it was she picked.

She swathed herself in a long coat and picked up her bag and headed downstairs, hoping against hope that someone would stop her, someone would somehow sense what she was going to do and cry out, make her stop, protect her from Michael. Stupid. No one was going to stop this. The decision was made.

Quietly, she slipped out of the front door and hailed a cab.

* * *

He answered the door himself. She had expected that. He would have given all the servants the night off. He might be lecherous and adulterous, but he was not stupid. He would not want any possible witnesses to this, no one to corroborate that she had ever been in the house at all this evening.

"Hello, Edith. Lovely to see you." He smiled as if he were genuinely pleased, and gestured her into the familiar hallway. "May I take your coat?"

"No," she replied brusquely. "This isn't a social call."

He shrugged. "As you wish. Come through."

Into the library. Edith looked around. Not a thing had changed. There still was the little desk and chair where she had used to do her typing; the same collection of ornaments on the mantlepiece, the same rug before the fire.

The same sofa where she had lost her virginity to him.

Edith swallowed and averted her eyes. "Can I fetch you a drink?" smirked Michael, pouring himself one from tantalus on the sideboard. "Dry sherry, perhaps?"

Edith could feel herself growing hot with shame. Well, she would have been a fool to think that he wouldn't try to make this night as humiliating, as _degrading_ as possible. That would all just be part of the fun for him. "No. Let's just get on with it, shall we?" Briskly, she tugged her gloves and coat off. "The letters, I want to see them first. To confirm they're genuine."

"And what if, once you have them, you turn tail and run? I _don't_ think so, my dear." He gestured to her with his glass of whisky. "I believe I'll have that pretty frock off first, as proof you're willing to keep your end of the bargain."

Edith flushed bright red, hesitating. Michael shrugged lazily. "Come along, Edith. You're an intelligent woman - you knew _precisely_ what you were offering, by coming here. But… suit yourself. If you've changed your mind, no one's stopping you from walking out of the door…"

As if in a trance, Edith reached up to the buttons at the back of her dress and began to undo them. She felt hot and cold all at once and humiliation was making her fingers clumsy. At last, the final button came free and, without letting herself think too hard about what she was about to do, Edith shoved the sleeves down her arms and then pushed the dress over her hips. Neatly, she stepped out of it, and bent to pick it up. When she rose, Michael was holding out his right hand to take it from her. In his left, held just out of her reach, was the packet of letters.

"Michael…" she begged, and he clicked the thumb and the ring finger of his right hand together impatiently.

"Stop _fussing_, Edith," he snapped. "Are we doing this, or not?"

Mutely, she nodded and held out her own hands, a mirror of his. Gregson took the dress as Edith took the letters. As she glanced down at them, Gregson slowly lifted her dress to his face and inhaled luxuriously. "Mmm. Rose water. Just like old times. So… _innocent_. It always made corrupting you _such_ a delight, my dear."

Edith did not reply. The letters in front of her were genuine, all right. Mary's handwriting - her writing paper - the phrasing she had used in some of the missives… Edith looked up and realised that somewhere in her heart, she had been hoping that they would be forgeries, that she would be given some excuse not to do the very thing for which she had come here tonight. Her stomach convulsed, threatening to relieve her of what little food she had managed to force down at tea-time. Carefully, she took three deep breaths in through her nose, until her belly had stopped churning.

Michael seemed to read her expression, for his face creased into a faint smirk. "You see, sweetheart? I haven't played you false - they're perfectly genuine." He took a step towards her, eyes darkening lewdly. "So if you want to hold on to them," he said quietly, threateningly, "you'll be a lady, and keep your word."

Bleakly, Edith nodded. "A-all right. But the letters go on the fire first."

Gregson spread his arms wide, a gesture of amiable magnanimity so at odds with the present situation that Edith would have laughed if she hadn't been on the verge of tears. "Whatever you say."

"And - and you p-promise that not a word of this will get into your paper?"

"Without evidence?" He gave a look like a schoolmaster disappointed that a bright student had given a silly answer to a question. "I'd be putting myself in the dock for libel."

"And - and no one will ever know… _what_ _I did…_ to get them back?" She thought she would _die_ if anyone ever found out that she had - had _prostituted_ herself to him like this, but she wouldn't put it past Michael to… to insinuate something, to spread rumours…

"If you like. Although I don't particularly know why you care." As he spoke, he set her dress down, folded up, over the back of the armchair. Quickly, Edith tossed the packet of envelopes into the flames and watched as they slowly crumbled into the coals. This done, she reached for the poker and prodded them firmly into ash.

Turning, she added, "And - "

"God, Edith, how many demands are you going to make?" he snapped.

"_And,_" she repeated coldly, "I - I want you to make sure you withdraw before… you know." Certainly, she did not want to get pregnant again. She did not want _any_ reminder of this night whatsoever.

Michael rolled his eyes. "Don't fret, sweetheart." He stepped back and gestured to the door into the hallway. "Well, is that it? Shall we retire?"

Edith walked past him with leaden footsteps. She could feel herself shaking all over and her heartbeat was a panicked, loud thud in her ears as she set her foot onto the first step of the stairs. Michael was close behind her, she could feel him, a malignant, oppressively warm presence at her back, his arms stretched out to hold both bannisters. Clearly, he did not want to risk her somehow slipping back past him and escaping. She felt like a lamb, barricaded in to a cart on its way to slaughter.

_At least the lamb doesn't have to wake up the morning after and carry on living_, she thought bitterly.

As she reached the landing, she paused - and as she did so, a tremendously loud knocking sounded at the front door. Gregson's face contorted in anger - and, Edith thought, fear.

"Did you tell someone you were coming here?" he whispered harshly.

Edith shook her head. "No one. Do you think I want _anyone_ knowing what I'm about to - "

"Mrs Crawley?" A hammering on the door again, and then the voice called a second time. "Mrs Crawley?! Are you there?"

Sudden, helpless relief swamped Edith. _However had he found her?_ "Sir Anthony!" she called back. "I'm - "

And then Gregson clamped his hand over her mouth and began shoving her up and along the landing, his other arm wrapped tight around her as he manhandled her along. Downstairs, Edith could hear a dull thudding as if someone were throwing themselves - hard and repeatedly - against something _very_ solid, such as a front door. Edith cried out, but the best she could manage was a muffled yell. Perhaps Sir Anthony would not even be able to hear her through the door. Still, it was enough to irritate Gregson for "_Shut up_, you treacherous little _bitch_," he spat, shaking her hard enough that Edith momentarily felt her teeth rattle in her skull.

_CRASH!_

Downstairs, the door finally gave way, with a tinkling sound as if some of its panes of glass had fallen out and smashed, and as Edith heard Sir Anthony's forceful footsteps hammering across the hallway, she renewed her efforts to get free, kicking and writhing and struggling. Gregson shifted the hand over her mouth a fraction, trying to get a better grip on her, and with a split second of clarity, Edith saw her chance, opened her mouth and bit down hard on his fingers. The metallic tang of blood met her tongue and Edith retched, spitting out a trail of scarlet gore that spattered across the carpet.

Gregson reared back with a wordless yell of pain, releasing her. As Edith turned, tottering backwards, he backhanded her with his uninjured arm, sending her flying. Her head cracked against the wall and Edith slid to the ground as stars danced past her eyes and pain stabbed through her skull. "That was _stupid_," Gregson panted above her, holding out his bitten hand as he rummaged in his pocket for a handkerchief. Blood was still welling in the cut. "You know, I'd have made sure you enjoyed yourself, Edie, but _now_…" He chuckled breathlessly. "I know how to bite too, sweetheart." He lifted his foot, ready to aim a kick at her, and Edith flinched reflexively, curling herself up into a ball -

And then Sir Anthony appeared at the top of the stairs, coat flying open over his shirtsleeves, his hair sticking up in several directions, his face blotchy with fear and rage.

"Who the _hell_ are you?" Michael demanded, whirling around.

"Anthony Strallan. Miss Crawley will be coming with me. _Now_." Without looking in Edith's direction, he extended his open hand to her. Hesitantly, Edith scrambled to her feet, wincing as her head throbbed again, and stumbled towards him. His hand was warm and so large that it almost swallowed her tiny fingers up. He squeezed, very gently, but all the rest of his attention was on Gregson. "If I _ever_ find that you have tried to contact my secretary again, Mr Gregson - or if you try to follow us now - I'll make sure your wife's family become fully aware of your… _antics_. If I were you, I wouldn't take the risk."

In the hallway, Sir Anthony, still set-faced, silently slipped his coat off, draped it around her shoulders and stood back to let her pass out of the broken front door ahead of him. The Rolls was parked on the street - her opened the passenger door for her, Edith slid in, Sir Anthony took the driver's seat and they pulled away in silence.

All the drive back to Strallan House, not a word was spoken between them. The house was in darkness when they arrived back; Sir Anthony helped her out of the car, unlocked the front door himself (for which she was thankful - even Warrell's constitution wouldn't survive the sight of her walking through the front door in nothing but her underclothes and the master's coat!) and then turned to look at her. "Might I have a moment of your time in the library, Mrs Crawley?"

Shakily, she nodded and followed him through. He switched the table lamp by the fire on, and stirred up the dying embers with the poker. Edith stood and watched him, wondering what he would do or say once he had finished. At last, he turned and surveyed her, and she was surprised to see how kind his eyes were. "Sit down. I should send for the doctor, I suppose."

"No!" Edith blurted out, even though she ached all over. "Please, don't. I - I don't want to have to explain - "

His voice was gentle as he insisted, "Dr Yardley is an excellent physician, my dear, and a very good friend, as well as being terribly discreet. If I telephoned her - "

"'Her'?" Edith sniffed wetly.

He nodded kindly. "Yes, the medical profession finally have physicians of good sense. Would you let her come and see to your scrapes, my dear? She won't ask any questions, I promise." He sighed and corrected himself, "Or - no more than she feels are necessary, to ensure you're all right, anyway."

Still, Edith shook her head. "No. Thank you… but I don't think I can…" Her cheeks were wet again. Sir Anthony coughed a little and proffered his handkerchief.

"Then I shall fetch the first aid box from the kitchen." Gently, he added, "Please, _do_ sit down."

Unsteadily, Edith sank into the nearest armchair and closed her eyes. Now that she was at rest, she was rapidly receiving a renewed awareness of her injuries. Her head was throbbing, and when she reached back, she could feel a lump the size of a duck's egg on the back of her skull that stung like a burn when she touched it. Her right cheek felt numb and bruised where Michael had struck her, with a line of fire running through the middle of it that she supposed was a cut, and her whole torso ached from where she had been held so tightly as he had tried to force her along upstairs.

The really awful thing, though, was that, had Sir Anthony not been there, had he not tried to find her and been successful… everything would have been _so _much worse. Even now, she might have been…

Her mind shied away from any thought of Gregson and what he would have done to her. She shuddered, and as she did so, she heard Sir Anthony ask, "Cold, my dear?" She hadn't heard him re-enter, and as she turned to face him, he tilted his head, gesturing to a pale green blanket thrown over his shoulder, and gave her a lopsided smile. "Fresh from the linen cupboard." He set down a first aid box and a steaming bowl of water on the occasional table between them and then bent to drape the blanket around her shoulders. Edith grasped the warm fabric and tugged it closer around herself. Just now, she was remembering the fact that she was still in just her underclothes - _that he had seen her in her underclothes_ \- and it was as if, by covering herself now, she could scrub out that memory, that truth, from his brain.

This done, he removed his jacket, threw it carelessly into the other armchair, and briskly rolled his shirtsleeves up to the elbow. In the firelight, the soft blonde hairs on his arms glowed golden. "Right." He gestured to her face. "Let's see to these, shall we?"

Edith blinked up at him, as he stared kindly down at her. After a moment, she realised that he was waiting for her to acquiesce, and a sudden swell of gratitude ran through her. Hastily, she nodded.

Neatly, he tugged up the legs of his trousers and knelt down at the side of the armchair, half-turning back to the occasional table to dip a flannel washcloth into the water. "Scrapes first," he murmured, his eyes soft and reassuring, and took a gentle hold of her chin. Edith closed her eyes, steeling herself, and felt the cloth press faintly against the cut on her cheek. "_Tsst!_" she yelped as it made contact and jerked away a little, as the warm water cut through the numbness and stung.

The thumb of Sir Anthony's other hand, the one holding her chin, brushed briefly against her other cheek. "Sorry," he winced and Edith opened her eyes, giving him a weak smile. "It's all right," she managed through clenched teeth. Quite apart from anything else, stretching her cheek to talk just made it hurt more. "Just… wasn't expecting it."

Sir Anthony laid the damp cloth aside and clicked open the first aid box, rummaging until he brought out a small bottle and another cloth. "Grit your teeth," he advised, uncapping the bottle. "I'm sorry, my dear, but Mrs Dale would never forgive me if I didn't make sure it was properly clean."

"Iodine?" Edith wondered, her hands clutching around the arms of the chair. He nodded and she exhaled, and then returned his nod.

"Ready?" he checked.

"R-ready."

She bit her lip, hard, when the sting of the iodine fizzled into the cut, and murmured a faint protest.

"I know, I know," Sir Anthony _shhh_-ed her gently. "Nearly done, I promise. One more, all right?"

Edith's eyes welled sharply as the cloth pressed against her cut for the third and final time.

When her vision had cleared, Sir Anthony was sitting back on his heels, smiling at her, a faint look of reassurance in his eyes. "There. Not deep enough to need stitches. I don't even think there'll be a scar. No permanent damage."

Edith took a deep shaky breath and as she did so, a hiccuping, hysterical laugh bubbled up in her chest. Somewhere along the way, the laugh became a sob and before she knew what was happening, the tears were pouring down her cheeks, making the cut sting anew. She buried her face in her hands, and then Sir Anthony's arms were around her, his chin tilted down to rest on the top of her head. "Oh, dear girl… there, there. You're safe now. I've got you. I've got you."

"How did you find me?" she croaked.

Sir Anthony let out a little huff of laughter that rumbled through his chest and ruffled her unkempt hair. "Sir Richard telephoned, just as I was about to retire, asking to talk to you." At Edith's muted exclamation, he reassured her, "It's quite all right - I said that you and Mama were at the theatre. But of course… well, I realised something must be wrong. So, when next you want to conceal your movements, my dear, don't leave incriminating notes just lying around in the waste-paper basket."

"Oh." Edith lifted her head from his shoulder.

Sir Anthony was watching her sympathetically. "Do you think you can tell me what you were doing there, my dear?"

She avoided his eyes. "I swear, on my honour - although I don't suppose I have much of that left now - I - I wouldn't have gone there if - if there hadn't been… an important reason."

"I didn't think for a moment that you would have done." There was a pause, and then he added carefully, "But that wasn't _quite_ what I asked, was it? Please - _please_, my dear…"

She couldn't bear to hear that anxiety in his voice, as if he truly cared about her. "He had… _something…_ that I needed to get from him."

"Something… _compromising_?"

Edith nodded. "Some l-letters. If he had published them…" She hesitated and Sir Anthony reached for her hand.

"My dear… if it would help to tell me… if you are in trouble, or need… _advice_… of any sort, _please_ believe that I will do anything in my power to be of assistance."

"Yes," she smiled weakly. "I thought that that would be the case. Of c-course I did."

He sighed. "Then why on _Earth_ didn't you come to me in the first place, instead of wandering off on your own to confront him?" For the first time, there was a hint of anger in his voice, and his fingers had tightened around hers.

Edith flushed. "Because you might have stopped me," she whispered at last. "And I _c-couldn't_ risk that."

Sir Anthony frowned. "Did he threaten you?" he demanded suddenly. "Was he attempting to blackmail you? Edith - "

"He - he - the letters weren't mine, but… but…" She stopped. How to explain without inadvertently betraying Matthew and Mary? "But… p-people that I care about would have been hurt if I had allowed him to keep them. I had to get them back. There would have been _such_ a scandal, and I couldn't bear the idea that it would happen because I hadn't been b-brave enough to help."

"My dear, no one would have blamed you - "

"_I would have blamed me!_" She shuddered out a sob. "Because it's _all my fault_. Michael wouldn't have - have cared a _jot_ about those _stupid _letters if I hadn't - if _we_ hadn't…" She looked up at him helplessly. "He doesn't usually p-print scandal, he used to say it makes the paper look ch-cheap. But he was willing to do it this time because he wanted revenge on me for walking out on him. I know it."

Sir Anthony's expression was serious. "My dear, I think you had better tell me all about these letters."

"Sir…"

"I promise, Edith, I _promise_, there is nothing you could show me or say to me that would change my opinion of you. Nothing terrible will happen. I only want to help." He squeezed her hand. "Please believe me."

Hesitantly, Edith told the whole story, pausing to swallow or catch her breath or gauge Sir Anthony's reaction. For several minutes, he sat there in silence, absorbing what she was saying, only occasionally raising his eyebrows, or casting quick glances at her. Eventually, when Edith fell silent, he exhaled noisily and looked at her full in the face. "I see."

"If Richard _ever_ found out…"

"Does he have a temper?" Anthony wondered. "Would he try to hurt your sister?"

"No." Vigorously, Edith shook her head - and then stopped, wincing. Wordlessly, Sir Anthony stood, and rested his hands on her skull, gently feeling for a bump. Edith bit her lip, embarrassed and silent. "Do carry on," he encouraged her politely, his fingers sliding carefully through her hair. "He'd just be heartbroken," Edith whispered. "He _adores_ her. And Matthew… with Lavinia and the baby… and - and Mary too…"

"No, I quite see," he hummed, and for a moment, Edith wasn't sure whether he was talking about the bump on her head or the other problem with which they were dealing. "Well, obviously Lord Grantham must be warned about the security of his correspondence, and Lady Carlisle should be spoken to, too. I can do the former, if you'll do the latter?"

Edith blinked up at him. "You - you'd really… you wouldn't mind…?"

"Not at all." The corner of his mouth tipped up, a little wryly. "The sort of advice your cousin is going to require will, I believe, come much better from an older, slightly wiser man than his young, female relation. We should fetch something cold for your head, I think."

A great weight seemed to have been lifted from Edith's shoulders, rendering her momentarily speechless. "He may also," Sir Anthony continued, "wish to have his solicitor placed on his guard, in case Gregson has anything else held back in reserve. I shall speak to Forrester myself on Lady Carlisle's behalf, just in case."

Edith found her voice. "You… you'd really do that?" she croaked.

He gave her a thin smile. "It appears that I already am, my dear." He observed her narrowly for a moment. "We'll put a cold cloth on that bump, and then do you think you can try to sleep?"

Edith smiled at him, a real smile now. "Yes, I think so. Thank you, sir."

"Not at all." He knelt down at the side of the chair once more, his face serious. "But, Edith… I must ask that if you are ever in need of help again - of whatever kind - that you come to me, _at once_. I will only ever want your happiness, and your safety. You do understand that?"

"Of course I do." She wouldn't look at him.

"Then promise me."

She sighed. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't ever make promises that I don't think I'll be able to keep. And nor should you."

"I don't think I have made such a difficult vow, you know."

His secretary looked up at him sadly. "You forget, sir… one day I might do something that you find unforgivable. Where would you be then, I wonder?"

"My dear girl, I'm not going to debate impossibilities with you, especially not at - " (he drew his pocket watch from his waistcoat, flicked open the casing and examined it) " - half-past ten at night. Now… cold cloth for your head, and then bed."

He had only just reached the door when Edith's tiny voice stopped him.

"Do you - do you think you could stay with me?" Edith whispered at her door. "Just - just until I fall asleep?"

There was silence for a moment, and then he answered in a perfectly normal tone of voice, "If you'd like. Shan't be a tick, my dear."

* * *

When Edith emerged into her bedroom from the bathroom, swathed in her most modest nightdress, hair hanging in a neat plait over one shoulder, she found Sir Anthony sat on the window-seat, shoes set neatly down on the carpet next to him, legs stretched out along the full length of the seat, book open on his lap. He stood and drew back the coverlet on the bed. "Thank you, sir."

"Not at all. Come on, that hot water bottle should have done its job in the bed by now."

The bed was indeed toasty warm as she slid between the sheets. Despite the horrors of the night, she was muzzy with sleepiness, and the heat was easing her aching body considerably. Sir Anthony tucked her in like a small child, and then sat down in the bedside armchair. Edith rolled over until she faced him, and watched him solemnly from the pillow as he reached for his book. "The bedside light won't disturb you?" he asked quietly and there was a rustle as she shook her newly-brushed hair against the pillow.

"No."

"All right, then. Why don't you shut your eyes, my dear? I'll be here, should you wake."

Her eyelids were already fluttering shut. "Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, my dear."

Suddenly, those brown orbs blinked back open and she half sat-up, propping herself up on one elbow. "Oh! I forgot… your meeting. What was it about?"

Anthony sighed, sounding almost amused. "You'll get a chill if you carry on like that," he said, instead of replying, and nodded at the eiderdown, which was slipping down from her shoulders.

With a little huff, Edith lay back down. "Well?" she asked, after a few moments had passed and it did not look as if Anthony were about to answer her question. "What did he want?"

"Oh… he just asked if I'd be able to… make myself useful to the Foreign Office for a few months," Sir Anthony replied, his voice very soft and soothing.

"In London?" Edith wondered.

"No," he said, quite casually. "In, ah, Germany, actually."

Edith, whose eyes had been closing again as they spoke, stared at him, suddenly wide awake again. "Germany! Heavens!"

He shrugged. "Yes, well, I spent a year in Heidelberg after university so… I speak reasonable German and Roger - my friend - wanted someone to… visit in an unofficial capacity."

Edith frowned for a moment, puzzling all this out. "P-politically?" she asked at last.

"Mmm." His mouth quirked apologetically. "I'm sorry. I can't really say much more than that."

There was silence, and then Edith whispered, sounding thoroughly desolate, "When must you leave?"

"I'm on the train to Dover first thing tomorrow morning. Stewart's on the last train down from Locksley as we speak, with my things. Then… the boat to Calais, and trains the rest of the way to Berlin."

"Oh." Edith warred with herself, and then asked, hoping she did not sound _too_ desperate, "Will you - how long will you - Will you be back in time for the Fete?" It sounded so immature and stupid, but Sir Anthony's soft smile gave no hint that that was what he was thinking.

"I don't know, but I shall try my very best. I'd hate to miss seeing all your hard work, you know. Now… do try to sleep, my dear."

"Yes," Edith nodded quietly. Anthony waited in case she were going to say anything else, and then lifted his book and tried to focus on Mr Dickens.

"Sir?" she croaked at length.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Is - I hate to even think it but… this visit to Germany… does this mean that the government thinks… thinks there's going to be a war?"

Anthony set his book aside again. "What makes you say that, my dear?"

"Just… well, all of that mess in the Balkans last year and… do _you_ think it's likely, sir?"

Her employer gave her an appraising look. Edith tipped her chin back determinedly, as much as she could whilst curled up against the pillows. "Because if it is, I'd as soon know now, rather than… bury my head in the sand about it."

Anthony let out a quiet, unhappy sigh. "My dear - honestly? I don't know. _Roger_ doesn't know - and you can make of that what you will." Out in the hall, the grandfather clock struck midnight. "Now, you really _must_ try to sleep, hmm?"

There was silence after that; Edith's eyes drifted closed and her body stilled as she sank into deep slumber. Anthony tried to concentrate on _Bleak House_, but he couldn't make his mind focus on the words. The sentences seemed to swim together on the page, and at every tiny snuffle or shifting bedclothes he had to look up to reassure himself that she was all right. Bangs to the head were nothing to laugh at, after all.

Except that wasn't the only reason. She looked so small and fragile in the bed, and the fact that she had curled herself up like a mouse under the blanket (knees drawn up, hands tucked under chin) wasn't helping. Every time he caught sight of the bump on that dear head or the bruise on that soft, pale cheek, he had to wrestle strenuously with the urge to leave this room, leave this house, drive back to Gregson's and give him the thrashing he had so _richly_ earned. The rational part of his brain knew that this would help no one - the _irrational_ part kept playing back the scene on that landing like a moving picture, Edith cowering away from that louse's foot. As if he hadn't hurt her enough already!

Frustrated, Anthony tossed the book aside onto the seat next to him with no little violence, and stood, pacing to the fireplace and then turning to survey the bed again. Was this his fault? Had she felt unable to come to him for help because he had sent her away? Was that why there had been no letters from her either? Anthony stalked back to the window-seat and sat down again, lifting the curtain aside a little to stare down at the dark London street outside.

In a few short hours, he would have to leave her. There would be no time before then for explanations, nor even for apologies - not that he thought he would be able to fix any of this mess. Knowing him, he'd probably only hurt her further. Tiredly, he knuckled at his sore eyes.

"Anthony!"

Her voice - not so much a cry as a whimper - startled him and he turned. Edith had rolled onto her back and was thrashing in the covers. "Anthony, I'm here! Why can't you hear me?! _Anthony_!"

He crossed the room in great, leaping strides to reach the bed. "Edith…" Gently, he slid his arm under her neck and raised her up. "Edith, sweet one, wake up, wake up."

She was still crying as she came back to consciousness. "No - no - no…"

"Just a horrid dream, my dear," he soothed. "I promise. I'm here. I've got you." She turned her eyes on him as they cleared.

"Sir?"

Carefully, he let one arm draw her closer, as the other reached for the blanket and bundled her up in it again. She curled against him, her head nestled against his chest. For a long time, they simply sat there, until Edith's breathing had settled.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.

"I was in his house," she sniffed. "And you were there, and you were calling for me, but… y-you couldn't see me and you c-couldn't _hear_ me and - " She dissolved and Anthony held her close and rocked her small, shaking body against his chest, lending her spend her fright, for the moment at least, in tears. "It terrified me," she admitted at last, in a shaky, cracking voice. "The thought of being… _lost_ forever…"

"Never," he whispered into her hair. "I'd never have lost you."


	73. Anthony Takes Charge

When he awoke, Edith was still asleep, curled up with her head on his chest and her hand fisted on his shirt, her bruised cheek turned outwards. The good Lord only knew how they'd ended up like that, with her head tucked under his chin, and her feet lodged between his own, and his arm slung over her waist, his hand spread protectively over her back, but there it was. Her nightgown - so prim and proper - was nevertheless a little big for her and it had slipped as she had slept, sliding down her shoulder and leaving such a swathe of creamy skin exposed that Anthony had to swallow away a sudden, monstrous urge to kiss her shoulder blade. She would feel like velvet against his mouth, he knew it. And her _hair_…

It was like a soft cloud of sweet-smelling autumn leaves; when the first quivering rays of dawning sunlight hit it, it sparked off threads of gold and cinnamon and copper.

She was quite the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes on.

And this morning he had to leave her. _Damn Roger,_ he cursed._ Damn the Kaiser. Damn the whole pack of useless, imbecilic _clowns_!_

Slowly, gently, he rolled her away, tucking the quilt in around her so that she would not catch cold, and then levered himself gingerly up from the mattress. She did not wake.

As he gathered his jacket, Anthony checked the time. Half past five in the morning. He felt dog-tired - perfectly normal, he supposed, given the lack of sleep last night. Stewart would be appearing to wake him shortly, but there were things to be done first. A bed needed to appear slept-in. An adulterous earl needed to be reprimanded. His mother needed to be informed of the events of the night.

Anthony sighed. When had the world become so complicated?

* * *

Lord Grantham had answered the telephone still sounding half-asleep. Anthony's relation of the events of the previous night, however, had shocked him into wakefulness with record speed. "Is - is Edith all right?"

Anthony softened a fraction. At least the boy was not _wholly_ unaware of his responsibilities. "A little bruised and shaken, but, in the main, yes. Fortunately."

"Please… when she wakes… do tell her how - how grateful I am that she - "

"Your _gratitude_, my lord, will serve no purpose whatsoever if you intend to continue with this - this _association_."

He heard Matthew's sharp intake of breath. _Perhaps that _was_ a little harsh, but dash it all, the boy had to be made to understand what a perilous line he was treading!_ Without waiting for an answer, Anthony pressed on: "You used to be a lawyer, Lord Grantham. I trust I don't have to remind you about the laws concerning divorce?"

"No, you don't." Matthew's voice was small and defeated.

"And I also trust that you have given Lady Grantham no other cause that would enable _her_ to obtain a divorce from _you_?"

"None."

"Obviously," Anthony bit out, "Lady Carlisle is not _nearly_ so fortunate. If her husband discovers this affair, then he will need no other reason. A wife's adultery is enough, more than enough."

"Sir Anthony - "

"If even a murmur of this had made it into the newspapers, she would have lost _everything!"_ Anthony pressed on brutally. The boy didn't need coddling or soothing - and even if Anthony had been minded to do either of those things, the memory of Edith's bruised cheek and frightened whimpers would have thrown cold water over the whole enterprise. "Her home, her reputation, her _security_. So would her mother. And as for _Edith_… you think because she lives in Yorkshire, in my house, that she would have been spared her share of the scandal?"

At Matthew's murmur of horror, Anthony nodded grimly. "I suppose you had forgotten about that. I don't say that Sir Richard would be purposefully cruel, but do you _truly_ think that he would continue to support the mother and sister of a wife who had betrayed him?"

"N-no," Matthew answered at last. "But… all of this is entirely unnecessary, sir. The… the affair was over months ago. Mary and I called it all off after George was born."

Relief shot through Anthony, stronger than he had expected. "Do you give me your word of honour on that?"

"Absolutely. I swear to you."

Anthony shook his head, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "For God's sake, man," he murmured, his voice a little softer now, "whatever possessed you in the first place? Lady Grantham _adores_ you."

"I know. Well, she _did_, anyway. You're not telling me anything I haven't already considered. I - I can't explain it. It was… a moment of madness." He swallowed thickly. "I assure you, I'm being thoroughly punished for it now. Lavinia guessed, about the baby."

The relief drained away. "Is she likely to expose Lady Carlisle?"

"She says not, and I believe her." A bitter little chuckle from Matthew. "She isn't even asking for a separation. She's far more honourable than I have ever been, clearly."

"Is that surprising?" Anthony wondered. "She's the mother of your child."

"_So is Mary_!" Matthew's voice was full of pain.

"No," Anthony said, very clearly and firmly. "She isn't. Lady Carlisle's child belongs to Sir Richard. And if you care about either of them - _truly_ care about them - then that is how you will leave things."

"And where does that leave _me_?" Matthew wondered.

"It leaves you with a wife and a son who deserve your full attention." Anthony shook his head. "It seems hard, I know. But you have no other honourable choice, man."

"Lavinia wants nothing to do with me."

"Can you blame her?" Anthony wondered dryly. "It doesn't matter. Thousands of people live in unhappy marriages, my lord - people far more blameless than you."

"I don't want my marriage to be an unhappy one," Matthew confessed.

The reply was bleak. "Then you oughtn't to have taken another woman to your bed."

* * *

"Mama?"

Never had Anthony been gladder of the fact that his mother was, and always had been, an early riser. Jacket thrown over his arm, he poked his head into her sitting room, where she was taking her morning tea and reading _The Times_. Nancy rose to her feet and came to him, her hands outstretched, and kissed his cheek. "All ready for the off, darling boy?"

"Yes. Look… last night, Edith was hurt."

"Hurt? How 'hurt'?"

Anthony sat her down on the sofa and explained everything, right up to when he had tucked Edith into bed. His mother didn't need to know that he had spent the night in her room, after all; she had a wild imagination and was fond of Edith - Lord only knew what she'd dream up if he mentioned _that_. "So you see," he finished, "she needs someone to… cherish her a bit, for the next few days. Could you - I hate to leave her here, but - "

His mother squeezed his hand. "I'll take excellent care of your sweetheart, dear boy, never fear."

"_Mama_…" He blushed and she smiled.

"Glad to see that you've stopped denying it, in any case. We'll put it about that she had a bad tumble and it knocked her about a little. Have you spoken to Lord Grantham yet?"

Anthony shrugged. "Telephoned about an hour ago - "

"Oh, I bet he _loved _being woken up for that!" Lady Strallan interpolated.

"Well," Anthony bit out, "he's lucky it wasn't much worse. The _irresponsibility_ of it - because of him, Edith might have - might have been - " He couldn't finish the sentence.

Lady Strallan shook her head. "Of course. Did you scold him _terribly_?"

"Yes," her son bit out, sounding remarkably like his father. "He says that it's all done with - and that Lady Grantham is… aware of the situation."

"Gosh." Another thought struck her. "Heavens - Lady Carlisle's baby! It isn't… _could_ it be?"

Anthony's face darkened. "Grantham seems to think there's a… a _significant_ possibility. And… well, the Carlisles have been married for some considerable time. Unusual, isn't it, not to have had little ones before now?"

His mother lifted her eyebrows. "Unless you're being terribly careful about your precautions, and luck's with you, yes." She shook her head, her expression worried. "Sir Richard mustn't find out about _any_ of this, Anthony. Is Lady Grantham likely to keep her silence, do you think?"

"_He_ seems to think so. Says she doesn't even want a separation."

She tutted. "_Far_ more than the foolish man deserves. But I suppose she's in love with him, and that makes even the most sensible of women behave like utter idiots."

The hall clock struck seven o'clock and Stewart tapped politely on the door. "Sir? We really ought to be leaving."

Anthony sighed. "Yes. Thank you, Stewart."

Lady Strallan kissed his cheek. "Travel safely. Write, occasionally. And," - (this with some emphasis) - "don't worry about _anything_ here at all. I'll have everything in hand."

"Mama, you're wonderful."

She smiled. "I know. Now, run along. That train won't wait, you know." She watched the cab pull away and vanish down the street, then shut the front door behind her and went quietly upstairs to Edith's room.

The girl lay curled up underneath the blankets, the sun casting her purpling, bruised cheek into sharp relief. Nancy winced. _Poor chick_. Just as well that Anthony had been there, that nothing _worse_ had happened to her. Really, the girl needed someone sensible to look after her always, someone she could look after in her turn. Nancy was under no illusions, either, about who that someone should be. _Well_, she thought, _we'll have to see what we can do about that!_

Sitting herself down in the armchair, her eye was caught by the copy of _Bleak House_ on the bedside table. She frowned. Edith was currently buried in an Austen, or was it a Bronte? Unlike her to be adulterous. Pip wouldn't have left his reading material lying around here - and, anyway, his tastes ran more to tales of derring-do than Dickens. No, there was only one person in this house who might have been reading this particular book. Nancy lifted it and saw the final, damning proof: the corner of a page folded over to mark the reader's place. Tutting, she opened it and smoothed it out. _Anthony, really! _It was a habit that Phillip had started in the boy - to him, books had been like good friends or lively hunting dogs, to be well-loved and used and read and re-read until they crumbled to dust, not handled like fine ladies.

Nancy laid the book aside again, with the sense of having stumbled upon something that should have remained private.

_So._ _He had stayed the night in here, had he?_

Obviously, he hadn't wanted to tell her _that_, whether because he feared her censure or the inferences she might draw from it, she could not tell. Well, the quilts didn't look terribly disturbed as if they had witnessed any great passion. For another thing, a man intent on amorous activities would hardly bring a book with him! Finally, there was the evidence of Edith herself - who looked perfectly respectable, no swollen lips or disarrayed nightgown - and the bruise on her cheek; Anthony, quite apart from anything else, would never make advances towards a woman who had been shaken so badly.

Edith mumbled something inaudible in her sleep and buried herself further into the blankets. As she slept on, Nancy watched over her.

* * *

Edith woke to the sensation of someone's tender fingers stroking her hair. She mumbled something incoherent and let her eyes flicker open, wincing as the light made them sting and water. "Ow."

Lady Strallan's amused voice answered her. "Don't worry, your head _is_ still there, my dear. I hear you did something very, _very_ brave last night." Her weight shifted off the bed and the room darkened a little as if the curtains had been drawn to again.

More cautiously this time, Edith opened her eyes and slowly levered herself up into a sitting position. "I did something very _stupid_ last night," she corrected bitterly. "Umm… wh-where is Sir Anthony?"

Lady Strallan shot her a look of speaking sympathy. "Halfway to Calais by now, my dear. You were sleeping so peacefully that he didn't like to wake you."

"O-oh." Edith drew her knees up to her chin under the eiderdown and hugged them tight, to stop that little pit of desolation inside her from quite swallowing her up.

Lady Strallan handed her a glass of cool water and two aspirin. "For your poor head. Then I'm going to ring for a breakfast of _gluttonous_ proportions and you're going to eat as much as you can."

Obediently, Edith took her aspirin and drank her water. After the nightmare, Sir Anthony had actually lain down with her on the bed and held her; if she concentrated hard, she could still feel the soft fabric of his shirt under her fingers, and the comforting weight of his hand spread across her back, his thumb feathering across her shoulder-blade, his heartbeat under her ear.

"Did… did Sir Anthony tell you everything?" Edith wondered, blushing.

"Not _quite _everything," twinkled her ladyship. "But I must say, I think Anthony behaved very sensibly." Her lips twitched and she added, rather primly, "After all, head wounds are no laughing matter. He couldn't have left you alone, now, could he?" At Edith's continuing look of anxiety, she sighed. "I'm not about to scold, dearest. I hardly think he constituted a threat to your virtue. And… he was admirably discreet about the whole thing. I wouldn't have even suspected if he hadn't left the Dickens on the bedside table." Lady Strallan smiled. "_Bleak House_ always _was_ a favourite of his."

There was a soft knock on the door and Lady Strallan went to open it, admitting Mr Warrell with the breakfast tray. "Ah, here we are," she smiled. "You shall feel very much more the thing after some food, my dear. A bad tumble really can take it out of one."

As the door shut behind the butler, Edith asked, "A bad tumble?"

"Yes." Lady Strallan set the tray across her lap and began to uncover various plates and dishes. "Anthony and I thought… well, you'll need an excuse for your poor cheek, and the bump on the head and… this is as good as any. No one else needs to know the truth, unless you choose to tell them."

Slowly, Edith buttered a slice of toast and chewed her way through it. Really, she didn't think she had met any woman like Lady Strallan before. Granny was terrifying. Mama petted and fussed and worried and overwhelmed one. Mrs Dale and Mrs Cox's care all came out in stern, albeit loving, threats. Never had she been treated quite like this, with such calm, warm, good sense. "So… what happens now?"

"Well, after you've eaten, I suggest that we closet ourselves in the library by the fire and have a nice cosy gossip. Pip has been invited to spend the day with the children next door."

"N-no, I mean… about all of _this_. L-last night."

"Anthony telephoned Lord Grantham this morning, before he left. And, when you're feeling more the thing, you can go and visit your sister and have a quiet chat with her. But the most important thing today is to take care of yourself." Lady Strallan poured them both cups of tea. "Now, eat up, my darling, before the bacon gets cold."

* * *

"Tired, my dear?" asked Lady Strallan.

Edith blinked up from where she was staring out of Lady Strallan's sitting room window at the peaceful sunny garden and offered her a wan smile. "Oh. No. Just thinking."

"Ah. I see." Nancy's face was filled with compassion. "About Mr Gregson? I'm sorry. But, you know, after something like this, it's perfectly normal to feel… unsettled, to… have nightmares and… well, you've no need to hide it, when you're hurting. I would much rather you told me."

"Oh, no!" Edith huffed out a little. "Oddly… he hasn't even crossed my mind. I was… I was thinking about… about Sir Anthony."

"Ah." Lady Strallan's smile broadened. "Well, Anthony's a sensible chap. He won't do anything foolish, and he'll be back soon enough."

"Yes," Edith agreed, although she didn't look convinced. "But… will he want anything to do with me when he is?" She gave a disconsolate little shrug. "Since we met, he's done nothing but pull me out of scrape after _ridiculous_ scrape. He must be thoroughly bored with me by now." Bravely, she challenged, "That's why he sent me to London, after all, isn't it?"

Lady Strallan stared at her for a moment and then began to laugh. "No! Not at all. Oh, my dear - " Hastily, she went to her desk, unlocked the drawer, pulled out an opened envelope and pressed it into Edith's hands. "My dear, you really ought to read this. And perhaps then you will understand what my darling son has clearly been too bird-witted to tell you!"

Uncertainly, Edith slid the letter from the envelope and shook it open.

_Dear Mama,_

_ I hope this finds you well, as I am writing to beg a favour. Would it be possible to send Pip, along with Mrs Crawley, to you for Easter, rather than in the summer this year?_

_ I was out with Hugh Gervas on Friday evening, and ran into John Challender - do you remember him, Mama? Vile lout - and that's putting it mildly. He was saying some horrible things, about me and Mrs Crawley. I suppose what it all boils down to is this: there's been talk and Edith doesn't deserve to be exposed to it. Please don't say anything; I don't want her to worry about it. She'll blame herself, but it's my fault entirely._

_ I've been very stupid - wearing my heart on my sleeve when I should have kept it hidden - but I won't let Edith suffer for it. I care too much about her for that. Please say that you'll help, Mama._

_ Anthony_

Edith let the letter slide gently from her shaking, numb fingers.

_I care too much about her for that. _

_Wearing my heart on my sleeve._

"Oh," she whispered. "So - so he didn't send me away because… because he didn't… Oh."

Lady Strallan squeezed her shoulder. "No, my dear. Anthony's terribly like his papa, I'm afraid. Sir Phillip found it very difficult to say what he meant where feelings were concerned, too. Can you forgive him, do you think?"

Edith laughed through her tears. "I don't think there's anything to forgive."


	74. Victoria

"Well, Edith, I do think this rather seals the deal, so to speak." Sybil closed her eyes in bliss as she swallowed the last bite of warm, newly baked scone, fresh thick clotted cream and strawberry jam. "I'd marry the man for his mother's cook _alone_." Belated, she added, "If I weren't already married, of course."

Edith pressed her hands to her suddenly flushed cheeks. "Oh, _Syb_…! You're _incorrigible!_"

Sybil opened one eye and grinned wickedly. "I am. I'm also _hungry_."

Edith passed her the plate of scones silently and waited while Sybil selected her next morsel. "So, has there been any movement in that quarter?" her younger sister asked.

Edith's blush only deepened. "He's been in another country for a week, Syb."

"What difference does _that_ make?" Sybil stared hard at Edith's healing cheek. "Wasn't Mama telling me that he cleaned you up after your horrid fall?"

Edith poured them both more tea, suddenly regretting taking Lady Strallan up on her suggestion that she invite 'your sister - not Lady Carlisle, the nice one' to tea. "Yes, he did. He was… very considerate."

Sybil rolled her eyes but was prevented for the moment from replying by the large mouthful of scone she had just inhaled. Once she had chewed and swallowed, she shook her head. "Honestly, Edie, you can be a positive _Victorian_ sometimes! I suppose that's why you and he suit each other so well." Putting on Edith's somewhat prim voice, she mimicked, "'He was very considerate.'" A glimmer of salacious fun slipped into her eyes. "Was it _terribly_ romantic, darling?"

"Oh, yes, iodine and ice-packs - I could barely stop myself from swooning," Edith shot back tartly. In fairness, that wasn't far from accurate - but not for the reasons Sybil supposed. She'd been far too shaken and woozy that night to be paying much attention at all to Sir Anthony's cherishing of her beyond the fact that it was happening. Of course, now he was gone, it was all she could think about: how gentle his hands had been, how soft his voice, how safe and protected he had made her feel.

Sybil chuckled, shaking her out of her reverie. "But when he gets _back_…?"

"When he gets back," Edith replied, "I… shall be very glad to see him." She wasn't about to tell Sybil about Sir Anthony's letter to his mama, after all. She would build far too much on it, and Edith would much rather wait until there was something to tell other than perhapses and maybes.

Sybil nibbled on her lip, her hand creeping out to squeeze Edith's own. "But… you do _like_ him, don't you, darling? If my teasing is annoying you, you _would_ say, wouldn't you?"

"Of course." Edith gave a reluctant smile. "And… you aren't wrong. I _do_ like him." Her eyes filled with sudden, sharp, silly tears. "I like him very, _very_ much."

Sybil slid onto the sofa next to her and embraced her. "Oh, darling! Then it'll all come right. You'll see!" She fumbled for her handkerchief and mopped Edith's face for her. "It's obvious he adores you, only he's too much of a gentleman to say anything for fear of offending you." She kissed Edith's cheek. "And I suppose after everything with Michael Gregson, he'd want to be so careful of doing anything that could be construed as - as backing you into a corner." Her voice grew amused. "If it weren't terribly unladylike, I'd advise you to grab him by the ears and kiss him senseless as soon as you see him again!"

"_Sybil!_" Edith gasped.

"Don't try to tell me you won't want to," Sybil countered firmly. "Because I won't believe you."

Edith dashed away the last few tears, giggling wetly. "Don't worry," she admitted, "I don't think I'd even believe _myself_."

"Well, there's progress!" Sybil sat back, thoughtfully eyeing the plate of cucumber sandwiches. "Now, as delicious as all this has been, I don't think I was invited just to sample the delights of Lady Strallan's cook, was I?"

Edith took a restorative sip of tea before replying. "Not exactly. Would you do me a favour?"

Sybil smiled openly. "After everything you've done for me over the last year? Of course I can. What do you need me to do?"

"Invite Mama for tea with you tomorrow?" Edith bit her lip and then rushed on: "I want a chat with Mary and it'll be… _easier_ if Mama isn't there."

Sybil's mouth practically dropped open. "Whyever would you want to talk to Mary _alone_?" The way she said it made it sound as if Edith had just announced an intention to bicycle naked through Piccadilly.

"Oh, well, you know…" Edith shrugged, "with the baby coming, I thought… perhaps it would be a good time for a fresh start. I don't want to pass all that silly bad feeling on to the next generation."

Sybil softened, mollified. "Oh. That's rather sweet." She kissed Edith's cheek. "We don't deserve you, darling."

Her sister brushed her off with a self-deprecating hand. "Stuff and nonsense!"

"It's _true!_" Sybil insisted. "Sometimes, I honestly think that Sir Anthony's the only person on Earth who truly sees your worth."

"I don't think that's _quite_ accurate."

Sybil sighed - and returned to her original topic. "And you haven't heard from him _at all_, since he went away?"

"Just a short note to say he'd reached Berlin safely." Edith forced a brave smile. "With any luck, he'll be back before the Fete."

"For that heavenly romantic reunion," sighed Sybil dreamily.

Edith buffeted her with a handy cushion.

* * *

"Hello, Mary." Edith greeted her sister with a cheery wave and a somewhat over-bright smile.

Mary set aside her embroidery with a frown. "Edith? Is something wrong?"

A tiny, faint part of Edith mourned the idea that she could only call on her older sister if something were wrong, but she pushed it firmly away, straightened her shoulders and answered brightly: "No, I just… thought I'd pop round and see how you were!"

"Bored and cross," Mary replied crisply. "Recovered from your fall, have you?"

"Yes, thank you." Edith supposed that that was as close to concern as she would ever get from Mary. Without waiting for an invitation, she sat down on the edge of the couch.

There was silence for a moment and then Mary said, "I'll ring for tea."

"Yes." Edith fiddled with her hat. "I rather think you better had."

Mary frowned, her hand stilling halfway to the small silver handbell that rested on the tray next to her. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Edith sighed. "When… when I said that I'd just come on a social call… I wasn't being _entirely_ truthful." She took a deep breath and confessed, "I heard from Michael Gregson last week."

"And what has _that_ got to do with me?"

Edith steeled herself to have her eyes scratched out. "He… he… some letters had come into his possession," she began, very gently. "Letters written by you… to Matthew."

Mary's face drained of blood. "And… where are these letters now?"

Edith gave her a tiny smile. "I burnt them down to the ashes in his fireplace."

"You went to his _house!?_"

"Yes." She straightened her shoulders. "He had… implied that he would let me have them if I agreed to go to bed with him."

Mary's eyes were wide. "Edith… you _didn't_…!"

Edith waited for a moment and then relented. "No, I didn't, as it happens. Sir Anthony followed me, and stopped him before anything happened." She swallowed. "But I _would_ have done, if I had had to."

"Why?" Mary croaked out.

"Because," Edith replied, with some asperity, "Richard's a horrid, cynical, awful _darling_ of a man and I couldn't bear the thought that he might be hurt because of your idiocy!"

"Are you going to t-tell him?" Mary wondered, her voice shaking.

"No. I… I know that everything's over, between you and Matthew. Did you know that Lavinia had found out?"

Mary buried her face in her hands, looking thoroughly sick. "Oh, God. I'm ruined."

"Apparently, she's told Matthew that she doesn't even want a separation. She doesn't want any more people hurt."

Mary snorted from behind her hands. "She always _was_ a silly mouse of a girl."

"I shouldn't complain _too_ loudly, if I were you." Edith pursed her lips.

"And… are you going to tell anyone else?"

"No. As I've said… I care too much about Richard to let him be hurt. And to prove it to you… well, let's just say that you aren't the only member of this family to have… disgraced herself like that."

Mary frowned, puzzling it all out in her head. "You and Mr Gregson?"

"Yes. Richard already knows - and he was _unspeakably_ kind about it." Edith swallowed. "But Mama doesn't know, and nor does Uncle John. There - two people you could betray me to, if I ever breathe a word about this."

Mary was silent and expressionless for some considerable time. "Does Sir Anthony know too?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you haven't - ?" She stopped. "Mama was only wondering the other day why you hadn't… why _he_ hadn't…"

"It's not for the reasons you think. Anthony… has been _wonderful_, truly. It was all my silliness."

"'Was'?"

"Yes. When he comes home… I'm not going to be silly any more."

Mary nodded. "Then I'm glad for you. Truly." She shook her head. "I'll have to tell Richard eventually. I do know that. Especially if the baby's a boy. It - it wouldn't be fair to let him… dote on a child that isn't his. But… I _am_ grateful that you've bought me some time, to tell him calmly and in my own way."

Edith tried her best to speak patiently. "He'll divorce you if he finds out, you know. You and Mama and the baby would all be destitute."

Mary nodded. "I know." Her hands were fisted in her skirt. "But I love him too much to carry on lying to him."

Edith raised a disbelieving eyebrow; Mary saw her expression and shrugged. "I know. If I loved him, why did I… with Matthew…? Stupidity, I suppose. A need for… excitement? I don't know."

Sudden anger welled up in Edith. How irresponsible, how immature, how _typically Mary!_ "You have had _everything_, you know," she murmured, her voice shaking. "A decent man who'd walk over hot coals for you, a lovely house, _security_ \- _everything_ just handed to you on a plate… and you've _thrown it all away!_"

Mary opened her mouth as if about to reply, but Edith didn't give her the chance.

"Did you even _think_ about what would happen, if anyone ever found out? Did you even _think_ about Mama or Sybil or Richard? Even for one _solitary_ second?" She shook her head. "No, of _course_ you didn't, because you're Mary Josephine Carlisle and selfishness runs through your veins where other people have blood! And somehow - _somehow_ \- when I was here looking after Richard and Sybil and Mama, and you'd been off gallivanting with your _lover_, you still had the _gall_ to accuse _me _of not pulling my weight!"

"Edith - "

Her sister flew up from her seat. "I hope when you _do_ tell Richard," she spat, "that he drags this scandal through every newspaper in the country."

* * *

The hall of Strallan House was thankfully empty when Edith let herself back in. Not even the brisk walk home - taken at double her usual pace - had been enough to calm her, and she shrugged off her light coat with some violence. The hat pin came next, clattering down on the hall table with considerable noise.

"Edith, darling, is that you?" Lady Strallan's cheerful voice called from her day-room. She actually sounded _pleased_, too, the thing that surprised Edith most about her employer's mother. All the endearments, too - 'darling', and 'dearest girl' and 'Edith my dear' - so very strange! _Lovely_, of course, but strange.

The balloon of irritation inside of her started to deflate. "Y-yes!" she called back.

There was the sound of light footsteps and then Lady Strallan appeared in the hall. Taking one look at Edith's flushed cheeks, discarded coat and the vicious hatpin, still rolling about on the table where it had been dashed, she raised her eyebrows. "Heavens. I take it that yours and Mary's chat didn't go well?"

Edith rolled her eyes. "You could say that, yes."

"Well, come through and have some tea and tell me all about it, hmm?" Gently, Anne slid an arm around her and guided her through into the pretty, bright sitting room and a comfortable chair.

"Well," she repeated, some time later, after Edith had consumed two slices of cake and three cups of tea and poured out all her resentment and anger and sharp sense of injustice at it all. "I can't say that I particularly _blame_ you, my dear. It's very easy to be cross with people we care about when they're doing foolish, destructive things."

Edith shrugged dully. "Perhaps. I… don't know if I _do_ care about Mary, though. That's the problem."

"You went to get those letters from Gregson," Anne reminded her. "I think that suggests you at least care a _little_."

"Clearly not enough to be supportive when she's trying to do the right thing for a change."

Anne reached out and squeezed her hand. "Plenty of time for that, when you're both feeling a little less… _raw_ about everything. You're sisters, my dear, and I promise that that's always going to be far more important than being friends." She must be very close to her time, now, mustn't she?"

"Hmm. Any day now." Edith stretched. "I shall be quite glad to get back to Yorkshire, to be honest. Not," she added, blushing, "that it hasn't been lovely to stay here - "

"But you're missing Pip." Said young gentleman had returned alone to Locksley three days ago and there had already been a flurry of letters between them, as well as a rather lengthy telephone call the previous day. "Perfectly natural, I assure you," Lady Strallan smiled. "Honestly, you've been a second parent to him, my dear, and we mothers miss our little ones _terribly_ when we're separated from them." She gave Edith's shoulder a jollying little rub. "Good for you to have a proper rest, though. When you get back, I suppose you'll be very busy, with Anthony away and Pip to care for and the Fete to organise. And we must still be so careful of Mrs Dale, too. Would it - of course, feel free to tell me I'm being an interfering busybody - but I was wondering, would it be of any help if I came back up with you? Just until Anthony gets home, to help you with Pip? Lighten the load, a little?"

"Oh!" Edith's exclamation was one of genuine pleasure. "I'd like that _very_ much but - but wouldn't you be frightfully bored? We're not nearly so exciting as London."

"Nonsense. There's your little car club, and Pip, and I can pay calls." Her ladyship gave one of those disarming, twinkling smiles that made her look so very much like her son. "Don't worry about me, my dear, I'm more than practised at finding my own amusements."

"Then… I'd _love_ it."

* * *

"You must let me take you to the theatre, before you go home," Lady Strallan said over dinner. "Or the opera. Or the National Gallery - we didn't seem to get around to it, did we, while Pip was with us?"

Edith chuckled into her soup spoon. "You're spoiling me, really. You don't have to."

"But I should very much _like_ to," Lady Strallan countered. "You've had a horrid couple of weeks, and it would be such a shame if you were to go back home without the memory of a nice treat."

Edith, suddenly remembering the warmth of Sir Anthony's arms around her, blushed violently, but was saved the embarrassment of answering by Warrell, who entered the dining room at that moment, looking a little anxious. "Excuse me, Mrs Crawley - a telephone call for you. Your mother."

"Mama? Heavens - " She looked at Lady Strallan. "You don't think - not Mary?"

Lady Strallan set aside her napkin. "I think it very likely, my dear. Warrell, could you hail a cab for Mrs Crawley? You go and speak to your Mama, and I'll collect your things."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Edith was being ushered into Mary and Richard's drawing room, the same room that had seen that horrid quarrel with Mary the other day.

Richard was pacing, but he turned at her entrance and came forwards to absently kiss her cheek. "Edith - good of you to come."

"I thought," Edith answered, "that you might need a little… bolstering."

They sat, and all was silence for a while. Mutedly, through walls and doors and ceiling, Edith could hear the comforting, low burr of Dr Grey soothing his patient.

"I should probably say thank you," Richard offered at length. And then he turned his face to hers and she saw that it was very serious. "And… not just for tonight, it seems."

Edith started and felt herself blushing bright red. "Oh. So… so Mary told you, then."

"Yes. She did."

She didn't know where to look or what to say, so she fell back on the only phrase that seemed even mildly appropriate: "Richard, I'm so - "

"Please don't," he interrupted. Awkwardly, he squeezed her elbow. "It's all right."

"Is it?" Edith asked doubtfully and Richard gave a bitter huff of laughter.

"No. Not at all," he acknowledged after a moment. "But… plotting revenge has been… somewhat soothing."

Edith's face creased with sympathy. Richard wasn't _capable_ of revenge, not towards people he cared about, anyway. And he _did_ care about Mary. Whatever happened, whatever he said, whatever _she_ did… that would always be the case. He could pretend to be as cold and unfeeling as he liked, but he'd let Edith in too far now for her to ever believe it anymore. It was like watching a magician explain how he did one of his tricks: all the mystique was quite wiped away afterwards.

Still: "I wouldn't blame you, you know, if you wanted to… to divorce her. No one would." She shot him a wry smile. "If _I'd_ found the letters, I'm not entirely sure I wouldn't have told you myself."

"But you destroyed them instead."

"Yes." She shrugged lopsidedly. "I know you love her, that's all. I didn't want you to be hurt so _publicly_ \- especially not by a louse like Michael Gregson. Not that it's done much good." There was silence for a moment, broken by a muffled yell of pain from the bedroom upstairs.

"For what it's worth," Edith murmured, "when I told her about the letters… she said straight away that she would tell you herself, that - that she loved you too much to carry on lying to you."

Richard made a small, indiscernible noise in the back of his throat. "Did she indeed?"

When the next yell came, it was _much_ less muffled. "_Richard!_"

Richard leapt to his feet, the blood draining from his face, his hands fisted into tight balls so that his knuckles turned white. Eventually the echo of the cry died away.

"What _are_ you going to do?" Edith wondered quietly.

Richard stared, unseeing, at the drawing room door. "I don't know. God damn it all, Edith, _I don't know_."

* * *

Edith was woken by the thin, distant, high wail of a newborn. She opened her eyes blearily, wincing as she raised herself up from the sofa where she had spent the night - she felt as if she had been beaten all over with sticks and then rolled down a hill for good measure. Richard stood at the fireplace, his eyes still fixed on the parlour door. An ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts and the almost choking fug in the room told Edith all too eloquently how he had spent the majority of the night.

Quickly, she went to the window, brushing his elbow with her hand comfortingly on the way past, drew back the curtain and flung up the sash, letting in the cold light of dawn and some fresh air. Coming down the stairs, she could hear the pattering of someone's feet; Richard stubbed out the cigarette and ran a hand through his disarrayed hair, swallowing thickly.

"A beautiful, bright baby girl!" Mama announced, flinging open the drawing room door. "Now, who's going to come up and see her first?"

"Richard," Edith said immediately.

"Edith," Richard said, at exactly the same moment, his voice rough with smoke.

Mama laughed. "Well, shall we say father's prerogative, Richard?"

"Y-yes, all right. Is Mary - she sounded - " He didn't seem able to form complete sentences.

Mama waved his worries away with an airy hand. "Oh, she's perfectly well. Mary's just always hated to be inconvenienced, that's all."

Inwardly, Edith rolled her eyes. _You can say that again, Mama._

Richard still stood unmoving, as though nailed to the floor by some unknown emotion. Gently, Edith kissed his cheek, making him stir and look round at her. "Congratulations, Richard, darling. Now go on." She gave him a trembling smile and nudged him towards the door. "You've got a daughter to meet."

* * *

On the landing, his hand on the bedroom door, Richard turned to his mother-in-law. "Cora, you look done for. Why don't you go and get some sleep? I'm sure Mary's too tired for more than one of us at once, anyway."

Cora kissed his cheek. "Bless you. I know the sound of a man who wants to be alone with his wife. Congratulations." Richard watched her walk up the next flight of stairs to her rooms and then turned back to the door, straightening his shoulders.

_A man who wants to be alone with his wife. _Was that what he was? He didn't know.

He'd always known about Grantham, of course. Mary had told him quite honestly, when they'd first started courting. _'Matthew's a darling. There's a part of me that will always be in love with him, you know.'_ But none of that had seemed to matter then, when they had been sparring across a dinner table, daring each other on to being the most shocking one in any room - nor even afterwards, when they had married. He had thought they had a happy marriage, when she would lean over his shoulder and wrinkle her nose at a clumsy turn of phrase in something he had just written, or when she would ask his opinion about the house or her wardrobe or something she was reading, or when they were in their bed, enjoying each other so very thoroughly.

He had thought that they had a happy marriage.

Clearly, he had been wrong.

But then… she had been so _upset_, when she had confessed everything to him that afternoon. Was it just terror that her whole life was about to be upended, or was she really, truly sorry for what she had done? He didn't suppose that there was any way to tell, except… in that awful moment of crisis last night, when she must have been in such awful pain, it had been _him_ she had cried out for, not - not _anyone else_.

The door opened and Dr Grey came bustling out, mopping his brow with his handkerchief. "Ah, Sir Richard! Come to see the new arrival, I suppose?" The doctor's rosy, weathered face split into a hearty beam. "Jolly good!"

"Y-yes. My wife, is she - ?"

"In perfect health - although a little tired. But," the doctor clapped him comfortingly on his shoulder, "that's only to be expected."

"Good. Good." Richard was silent for a moment and then shook himself from his own thoughts, back to the politenesses and practicalities that had to be observed. "My sister-in-law is downstairs in the drawing room, doctor, if you'd care for a brandy, before you go?"

"Well, that's jolly decent of you, Sir Richard. Best if I wait here for a while, in any case, just to be quite sure that all's well." Grey gave him an almost conspiratorial smile. "Go on in - your wife is _very_ eager to see you."

The doctor's feet had quite died away down the stairs before Richard had plucked up the courage to knock gently on the bedroom door and push it open. Shuffling in, he asked quietly, "Mary?"

She lay in the bed, a little pale perhaps, with reddened eyes and mussed hair, but otherwise looking perfectly herself. A shudder of painful relief went through him and he hobbled to the bedside chair and slumped down in it, his legs feeling suddenly like water. "Mmm…" Mary's eyes blinked open, very blue and very tired. "Richard…" she croaked and her fingers twitched on the blanket as if she wanted to reach for him.

His hand, large and warm, covered hers. "Should I call the doctor back in?" he wondered, and then rushed on before she could answer: "He's only just gone downstairs. Wouldn't leave till he was sure everything was quite well. Edith's busy plying him with brandy as we speak."

"Oh," Mary murmured, closing her eyes again. "I see."

"I thought that I was going to lose you," he confessed in conversational tones and Mary opened her eyes, lifting a single eyebrow.

"I didn't think fretting was your style at all."

His hand tightened over her fingers, so unexpected. Drowsily, cautiously, Mary wriggled her fingers between his so that they were laced together, wondering when he was going to start raging again. But when he spoke again, he did not sound angry at all. "Neither did I." Then, still avoiding her eye, he murmured, "You… you screamed out for me, when you were in labour."

Mary's fingers quivered beneath his. "Isn't that the way these things usually go?" She gave a quaking, artificial laugh. "Don't worry, it didn't _mean_ anything." Then - quite contradicting herself - she pointed out, "You didn't come."

Richard's head shot up and he caught the faint trace of anxiety on Mary's wan face. "No, I didn't," he agreed. After a moment, he added, "It won't happen again."

A tiny muscle twitched in Mary's cheek and she looked towards the cradle. "Did Mama tell you - a girl?"

Richard nodded but made no move to leave her. "Mmm. She did."

"I was so _stupid," _Mary whispered. "We… we were drifting so far away from each other that I - I - thought you didn't care, that you hadn't ever cared - but I - "

"Yes, I _care_." His voice was sharper than it had been ever since he had entered the room, but still low, in deference to the sleeping baby. "I have _always_ cared. But… what use was that when you were always so _obviously_ in love with Matthew?" He shook his head. "I don't like coming second, Mary - never have. And… I was sensible enough not to put myself in for a race I knew I was bound to lose. I thought I could offer you other things - partnership, security - and when you said yes to me, I… thought that that would be enough. I thought I could win there, thought I could _know_ you better than he ever could."

Mary turned her head aside. "You did, Richard. You _do_." She sniffed noisily. "I want _you_, not - not anyone else. I know that now. And I'll do _anything_ to keep you. Please - "

Richard stood; Mary's fingers clung to him for a moment, and then let go. "Just… get some rest, hmm? We'll talk more later."

* * *

Once he had returned downstairs and seen the doctor out, Richard crossed the hall and opened his study door. "Richard?" Edith asked behind him.

He turned and forced a smile for her benefit, though he was dog-tired and utterly at a loss as to what to do next. "Your Mama's gone to bed. So should you, by the looks of things."

Edith gave him an old-fashioned look. "Are you all right?"

"I'm always all right. Just… need a bit of thinking time."

"Can I fetch you anything?"

"No, thank you." He gestured helplessly to the stairs. "Just… see I'm not disturbed for a while?"

"Of course. May I make a telephone call? Just to Strallan House, to let them know that everything's gone well?"

"Would you rather go back?"

"I'd _rather_ stay and make sure you're all right," Edith replied crisply. "How _is_ Mary?"

"You could go up and see her, if you wanted to. She'd like that. Well," he amended carefully, "she wouldn't _mind_, anyway."

Edith chuckled, a little uneasily. "Perhaps later. Well, I'll let you get on."

"Edith… when I said thank you… I meant it, you know."

She watched him with startled eyes. "I know, darling."

* * *

Mary woke to Richard's voice crooning over the baby. "You _are_ beautiful, aren't you, sweetheart? Yes, you are." He chuckled quietly and the baby gurgled a little. Through her half-parted lashes, Mary saw him smile faintly. "Any fool can raise a son - it takes a man of particular intellect and strength of character to raise a _daughter_." Carefully, he stroked the baby's cheek with one long, careful forefinger.

Mary did not think she had ever seen him handle anything or any_one _with such care and reverence - but, no, that wasn't_ quite_ right, was it? She _had_ seen him like that once before, one night almost seven years ago. She closed her eyes again against sudden tears. _Lord, had it been that long? _

And now she had gone and thrown every last scrap of it all away.

The tears burst suddenly forth. Richard's eyes were drawn from the baby's tiny, peaceful face by the heaving, breathless sounds of his wife's sobs.

"Mary - "

"You know she isn't yours," she managed. "After six years of trying, there isn't any way that you could even _hope_ that she is."

"Would - if you could, would you _want_ her to be mine?" Richard asked seriously.

Mary buried her face in her hands. "Of _course_ I w-would!"

"Well, that's a fortunate thing." His voice was almost expressionless.

Slowly, she lifted her damp face to look at him, hardly daring to believe her ears. "Wh-what do you m-mean?" she sniffed.

With the hand that was not holding the baby, Richard lifted a piece of thick, official looking paper from the bedside table and handed it to her. Mary stared at it as if she could not quite comprehend the words in front of her for a moment, and then asked, "A birth certificate?"

"A birth certificate," he agreed. "I went this morning to register her."

She looked up at him. "You named yourself as her father."

"I did."

"Th-that was silly of you," she scolded lightly. "No judge will let you divorce me if they think that you knew that I…"

Richard looked at her steadily. "I don't want to divorce you. God, Mary, it's the last thing I want."

"Then… y-you'll really… keep us on?"

"It's not a _choice_, Mary. It never has been." He squeezed her hand simply. "You… you _own_ me, you know. It's as simple as that. And this little one seems to have inherited that."

"How - how can you forgive me? After all of this?"

Richard passed a tired hand over his face. "I don't say that I have. Not yet. I imagine that will take some considerable time. But… damn you to _Hell_, Mary… I'd rather live miserable with you than blissful with anyone else." He huffed out a bitter laugh. "That's what it comes down to, I suppose."

"I see," she replied, gravely. "You know… I'll do anything you ask of me."

"If I asked you not to see Matthew again, not to speak to him, or write to him… would you agree?"

Mary watched him for a moment. _What do you really want?_ Because that was what it came down to, really, wasn't it? What was more important to her?

In a moment of startling clarity, she saw two different futures laid out in front of her. Matthew or Richard. Mistress or wife. Loneliness or comfort. Poverty or plenty. Disgrace or peace.

"Yes," Mary said. "I would." She looked up at Richard. "_Th-thank you_."

They sat together in silence for a moment until the baby shifted and began to mewl. Mary reached for her. "Oh, come here, darling, come to Mama. Come on - " A thought struck. "Heavens, whatever have you named her?" She glanced again at the birth certificate. "Victoria Mary Carlisle," she read.

"Mmm. Good, strong name, Victoria." Richard sniffed, off-hand, and rubbed his nose. "She'll need that, when she inherits the paper."

"What if she doesn't _w-want_ your silly old newspaper?" Mary trembled.

"I'll catch her early," Richard threatened. "Teach her her letters on the proof-sheets. Just look at her - no girl with eyes like this is stupid. And with journalists for her papa _and_ her uncle, she'll really have no choice. So there."

Victoria opened her eyes to see what all the fuss was about. Carefully, Mary reached for her and gathered her into her arms. "Well, then, Victoria. It seems Papa has - has everything settled."


	75. Doing Our Duty

**AN: For the guest reviewer who asked about Anne/Nancy - Anne is her full first name; she tends to go by 'Nancy' among the members of the family who don't call her 'Mama' or 'Granny': Nancy's a quite common short form of Anne, and the nickname that Anthony's father Sir Phillip gave her while they were courting.**

**The first line of this chapter has been borrowed (and butchered) from the novel _A Presumption of Death _by Jill Paton Walsh, a continuation of the Lord Peter Wimsey novels; in Walsh's novel, it's used to describe the inimitable Bunter...**

* * *

A house that had Anne Strallan in it seemed to run on oiled wheels. Edith realised this on her first night back at Locksley, and the next few weeks only seemed to prove it. Every household query, every prep. crisis or problem, every one of the hundreds of little inconveniences attending the running of an estate were dealt with calmly, competently and with the absolute minimum of fuss, leaving Edith completely free to focus her attentions on organising the Fete, which was fast approaching.

In short, Edith was convinced that her employer's mother was a gift from God, and did not hesitate to tell her so. "Anne," she said one day, looking up with a sigh from the accounts as Lady Strallan set a cup of tea at her elbow (and it had _become_ 'Anne', now, even if Edith hadn't quite worked up the courage for 'Nancy'), "you're a _marvel_!"

"Nonsense!" laughed Lady Stallan. "I ran this place for over thirty years and raised two children here - and, well, _plus ça change._ It's all about practice, that's all, I promise." Fondly, she kissed the top of Edith's head. "In thirty years' time, you'll be just as much an expert." The amusement in her voice deepened. "And anyway, you're not so bad yourself. Only think about how you dealt with Mr Davis yesterday…!"

Edith flushed in embarrassment. True, she _had_ had to be a bit firm with the vintner…

_"Hello, Mr Davis." Edith held the receiver in one hand, the fountain pen Anthony and Pip had bought her last Christmas but one hovering over the writing pad in front of her. "Yes, we were hoping you would be able to provide the wines for the Summer Fete… The __fourth of August__… About ten cases' worth, I should imagine…" _

_Anne, writing a letter at the bureau in the corner, saw her face crease with disapproval at something Mr Davis had said and her voice was sharper when she spoke again. "Well, this year, I am _assisting_ Mrs Dale… No, she isn't available at present… In that case, I do apologise for wasting your time, Mr Davis - Sir Anthony will be more than happy to take his business elsewhere in future. I am _quite_ sure Brooks' in York will be - " _

_A hasty babble of apologetic noise came from the receiver. Edith's face relaxed again into the delightful, satisfied smile that so fascinated Anthony, when he was here to see it. "Excellent. _So_ kind, Mr Davis. And," she added sweetly, "I was assured you would be amenable to some sort of discount... Oh, yes, that would be perfectly acceptable. I look forward to working with you. Good day, Mr Davis." _

Edith shrugged. "He just needed… coaxing a little. I'm sure his bark is worse than his bite." She rose from her desk, ticking an item from a long list, taking a gulp of her tea, and checking her watch all at the same time. "Heavens, four o'clock already! Now, I simply must go and talk to Mr Yates about the fruit and vegetable show for the Fete. He'll make a splendid head judge, don't you think so?"

Anne watched her go, a satisfied smile on her face. "Oh, you'll do _very_ well, my dear. Very well indeed."

* * *

"Letter from your Papa for you, my dear," Edith smiled as Pip slid into his seat at the breakfast table. She passed the envelope to him and tried not to watch too closely while he opened it and read.

Lady Strallan had no such compunction. "What does he say, darling?" she asked.

Pip shrugged and tucked the letter into his pocket. "Nothing much. Hopes I'm knuckling under and doing as I'm told… says he's still hoping to be back for the Fete."

"Jolly good." Edith's smile was a little strained. Sir Anthony only ever did write to Pip, after all, presumably under the assumption that any important news would get read out to the rest of the odd little family that they had formed at Locksley since he had gone away. She shouldn't be jealous, she _knew_ she shouldn't, but… oh, what she wouldn't do for just a few lines of his handwriting all to herself! Especially now.

The news from Europe was not promising, after all. Monday's papers had been full of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife the Duchess of Hohenberg in Sarajevo, and Edith fretted now that this was the spark which could set off the whole tinderbox. Was this what Roger had feared, when he had sent Anthony off over there - that something awful like this would happen, and a cool head would be needed to restrain the tempers of others? But why did it have to be _his_ cool head? What if he failed? If he did - if Europe descended into sudden, brutal chaos - whatever might become of Anthony, stuck in the middle of it all?

Thinking about it was like having a bruise as a child: she flinched away from the sharp pain of it, and yet still could not help prodding at it, again and again, and then flinching anew. And here she was, spending her days bothering about an stupid village _Fete!_ It all seemed so foolish and pathetic. Utterly pointless, when Anthony could end up being in such terrible danger.

She was brought back to herself by the light touch of Anne's hand on her wrist. "Buck up, my dear. You were quite away with the fairies."

Edith blinked and looked around for the butter for her rapidly cooling toast. "Yes. Sorry."

Under the noise of Pip's scramble for the door - he was cycling over to Orton Park to help Veronica's stablehand with the mucking out and exercising of her horses (and charging the princely sum of two shillings, sixpence for the job) - Anne added, "_Please_ don't worry about him. Anthony has enough good friends over there to make sure he comes to no harm. And… quite apart from that, he has sufficient common sense to get himself home if it looks as if things are going to turn nasty." She gave Edith a reassuring smile. "For all we know, he might be on his way back as we speak, the time it takes letters to get here from Berlin."

Edith nodded. "Yes. You're very probably right. I just… wish we could be sure, that's all. He's… he's _n-needed_."

Anne poured her another cup of tea. "Well, why don't you write and tell him so? If anyone in the world could order him back, it's you, my dear."

"No. I - I don't have that sort of claim on him, you know I don't. And even if I did… it would be terribly unfair of me to ask him such a thing, when he's needed. When his country needs him. I'm being selfish, and he wouldn't thank me for it." Edith swallowed. "And… he hasn't written to me, has he? Only to Pip. I don't want to _plague_ him."

Anne opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, Edith had stood, brushing out her skirt. "Now, I really must get on." She frowned out of the breakfast room window as Pip's blonde head went cycling by, down the drive. "You do suppose Pip will be all right at Orton, don't you? He won't make a nuisance of himself?"

"I'm sure not. She was telling me only the other day that she'd welcome the help. And paid employment's good for a boy of his age - teaches him the value of things." At Edith's still doubtful expression, Anne added, with a teasing twinkle in her eyes, "And besides, Veronica'll box his ears for him if he's troublesome.

* * *

Edith put down her pen with a sigh of frustration and crumpled up the latest in a long series of failed letters to Sir Anthony. Whatever she had said to Anne earlier, she hadn't been able to get the idea of it out of her head all day - the idea of writing to him and begging him to come home, to be safe, to abandon any thought of needing to be dutiful or honourable or helpful.

So she sat at the writing table in her room, in just the circle of light cast by the desk lamp, surrounded by scrunched up sheets of writing paper. She did not have any words - or at least, any that would not sound, as she said, utterly selfish and thoughtless.

Drawing a new sheet towards her, she began again:

_Dear Sir Anthony,_

_ We received your latest this morning, and hope that you continue in good health. We are all in good health, although the news from Europe has worried us a little. We hope that you will soon be back with us at Locksley again, all this trouble and strife quite forgotten._

_ Yours,_

_ Edith._

Her pen hovered over the _'Yours'_, wondering whether to scrawl it out and write something less… possessive, but in the end, she screwed the cap back on, folded the letter up, and slotted it quickly into the ready envelope.

Well. That was that, she supposed.


	76. The End of the World As We Know It

**AN: So I really was going to wait until 4th August to post this, but it turns out I don't have that sort of impulse control! Enjoy...**

* * *

**4****th**** August, 1914**

Locksley's hall was a hive of energy when he stepped through the doorway into its familiar comforting space. Behind the exhaustion and defeat of the last few days, he could acknowledge that it was good to be home. Looking around, he tried to spot the head of coppery hair that had been haunting his dreams ever since he had left her in London. But the only people he could see were tradesmen and -

"Mama?"

His mother turned with sudden speed at the sound of his tired greeting, utterly abandoning her book of raffle tickets in favour of throwing her arms around him and holding him tightly. "Anthony Phillip Strallan!" Her arms, if possible, squeezed even tighter as she scolded. "We'd almost given you up for lost! How _dare_ you worry us all so abominably!"

He bent his head and kissed her cheek patiently, apologetically. "Forgive me."

His mother drew back, giving him a look caught somewhere between fury and affection. Tears of relief glittered in her eyes and sent a throb of regret and guilt through Anthony. "_Nonsense_. Oh, Edith will be _so_ glad to have you back!"

Anthony nodded, not even bothering to contest the assertion. "Wh-where is she?"

"Out on the lawn, mothering everyone from Pip upwards." She smiled briefly. "Darling girl." Then, the smile faded as she looked him over, checking for injury. In business-like tones, she asked, "How _was_ Berlin?"

He couldn't face that question, not here, not now. Instead: "Later, hmm?" he suggested. "When I've spoken to Edith. Will you excuse me, Mama?"

"Of course." His mother's lips twitched into a sly, highly amused smile. "Go and greet your sweetheart."

* * *

As she looked out over Locksley's lawns, Edith sighed with a sense of contentment that had become somewhat unfamiliar over the last few weeks. In a moment, she would go down, as she had seen Mrs Dale do, all the years she had been running the summer fete at Locksley, and make a tour of the stalls and the food tents and the drinks' stands, and check that everything was under control - but for now, she could stand still and admire her handiwork. Everything had come together beautifully, much to her astonishment. It would have been truly awful to have looked out today and known that she had let everyone down. _Let him down._

No. She had promised herself that she wouldn't spend the day pining for him, no matter how much she wanted him, no matter that he had promised her he would be home in time, no matter that Europe was slowly disintegrating into conflict, with him still in the middle of it all. She had _promised_.

"Champagne or rose lemonade?" A joyously familiar voice asked at her elbow, almost as if her thoughts had summoned its owner.

Edith turned, a involuntary cry of delighted shock leaving her mouth. "Sir! You're - you're _home!_"

He ducked his head, and held up a flute of each beverage in his hands. "I'm afraid," he said gravely, instead of answering her properly, "the drinks' tent had a sudden run on ginger beer about ten minutes ago." At the widening of Edith's eyes, he reassured her, "Stewart's gone up to the house to fetch some more. Everything under control, Captain Crawley."

Edith chuckled through sudden, unexpected tears. "In that case… well, just _one_ glass of champagne won't utterly ruin my character in the eyes of the tenants, will it? Th-thank you."

"Your _very_ good health, my dear," Sir Anthony toasted her, and they clinked glasses briefly. A glimmer of mischief sparked in his eye as he made a show of looking her over, and then he asked, "Now, where are you keeping your magic wand today?"

Mrs Crawley blushed prettily into her glass. Really, she was looking thoroughly charming today, in a white blouse and dusky-pink skirt - both of which she had undoubtedly made herself - those delicious coppery curls glittering in the bright sunlight. Not, of course, that she didn't _always_ look thoroughly charming. _God,_ he groaned inwardly,_ but I've _missed_ you. _But it was more than that. Looking at her, he realised that the emotion bubbling up in his chest as he looked at her smiling face, dusted with two-dozen or so freckles - too much time spent in the sun without hat or parasol - was longing. Desire. Adoration. _Love._

"Oh, locked up safely in my desk, sir," she managed after a moment. Leaning her head a touch closer to his, as if confiding some great secret, she explained, in the same teasing tones, "We fairy godmothers only bring out our wands on _very_ special occasions, you see."

"High-days and holidays?" Anthony grinned and she toasted him again.

"Just so, sir."

"Well, you've done a _splendid_ job." He looked out with her over the gently sloping lawn, filled with people enjoying themselves.

"I had an _awful_ lot of help!" Edith protested. "Your mother has been an absolute God-send." Suddenly nervous, she tucked a curl of hair behind her ear and babbled on, "Wasn't it so terribly kind of her to come back to Locksley while you were away? She's been wonderful with Pip and managing the household, so I could focus on this. And Mrs Dale's given me so much advice and help, too. I could never have managed without them."

When her employer looked down at her again, she was surprised by the seriousness on his face. "Be that as it may, none of this would have happened without your determination, or your cleverness, or your sheer powers of organisation. Be proud of your achievements." His voice was so sincere that she had to look away or risk a sudden, silly fit of weeping. She'd missed this, she realised suddenly. Just… having him here, bolstering her, and saying such lovely things. His sincere admiration and respect were like nothing she had ever experienced before.

"Thank you, Sir Anthony," she whispered, and he squeezed her elbow briefly before letting her go. His hand was warm and strong and her skin prickled with happy awareness where he had touched her through her blouse.

"You're most welcome, my dear." He cleared his throat. "They were telling me up at the house that you've put a dance floor in the orchard. I don't suppose you'd… favour me with a turn?" His face creased. "Or are you frightfully busy here?"

"Not busy at all," she lied. _Well, I'm allowed just fifteen minutes, aren't I? Surely this is just… testing that the dance floor is all right?_ Besides, being so close to him now, after so many months apart, was inexpressibly wonderful. Responsibility or not, she found herself utterly unwilling to tear herself away from him now. Every smile, every word, every look of shared understanding made her throb inside with love. "I'd like that. Very much."

"Jolly good. Shall we?"

As they walked down the lawn, her hand tucked into his offered elbow, Edith ventured to ask, "How was - how was Germany, sir?"

A look of such utter weariness crossed his face that Edith opened her mouth to apologise. But he squeezed her hand reassuringly, and only replied, "A little unpleasant, I'm afraid. I'm not entirely sure that I've done any good whatsoever." His face cleared. "But let's not spoil a pleasant afternoon with horrid things. Enough time for that later."

Edith frowned. "Sir - "

"After the dance," he insisted, holding out his arms for the formal waltz hold and she sighed and smiled and stepped into him. _Oh_. However could she have forgotten what this felt like - his hand, broad and steady on her back, the warmth of his body, so close to her… the sheer height of him, curved protectively around her, the faint scent of tobacco and peppermints and paper that hung about him… Sharp tears pricked her eyes and she had to blink them away before they fell.

"Forgive me," he murmured above her as he swung her about, "I haven't said 'thank you' for taking such good care of Pip, while I've been gone. I knew I was leaving him in excellent hands."

"Nonsense," Edith managed, with some of her usual crispness. "He's been an angel, as always."

"And Nicholls," he added, "wrote to me a month since, rather cross, to say that you had everything well in hand on the estate, so there was no need for my constant letters 'checking up on him.'" There was a faint note of amusement in his voice as Edith shot him a look of alarm.

"I…"

"Come now," he jested softly, "surely you can't call _Nicholls_ angelic? Admit it - you're simply a very capable woman who has a skill for making any man in a five mile radius do exactly as he's told."

Her face went pink and she looked steadily over his shoulder. "I'm glad that you have no fault to find with me, sir." The band came to the end of the tune with a high, cheerful trumpet note and he led her from the floor. "And now," she added steadily, "will you please tell me what's wrong?"

He hesitated, then took her arm and drew her away from the crowd, to the other end of the orchard, through the crumbling brick archway into the walled garden. In the shade of the wall, he pressed her into one of the wrought iron benches, drew out a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it silently to her. She read quickly, and then looked up at him. "Oh, _sir…_" She read it again. "But… this isn't a - a _certainty_, is it? We have until eleven o'clock. Germany might yet accede to the government's demands and…"

At his look of utter, bleak hopelessness, she stopped, face falling. "Oh. Then… it's really as desperate as all that?"

"Yes." He ran a tired hand over his face. "So you see, my dear," he sighed, almost bitterly, "I'm not the knight in shining armour you think me."

Edith took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, then reached out and squeezed his hand, pressing the note back into his palm as she did so. "Nonsense. You did as much as you could. I'm sure you did. No one could expect you to… to save the _whole_ world." She stood and her hand gently twitched his lapel straight. Palm still lingering over his heart, she insisted, "It's enough - _more than enough_ \- that you saved _me_."

He gave that crooked, tired smile of his that she adored, his eyes roving carefully over her face, settling on the place on her cheek where Michael had bruised her. "How have you been? No… lasting wounds?"

She shook her head. "No. All - all healed. I promise."

His thumb brushed against her cheek, as if he were touching something very precious indeed. "My dear, I - "

"Mrs Crawley? Mrs Crawley?!" The call came from the other side of the archway.

Edith shut her eyes, frustration crossing her face. "That's Mrs Cox. I should go and see what calamity's befallen us this time." Regretfully, she stepped away, his hand dropping from her face. "Go and find Pip. Enjoy the day." At the archway, she turned and shot him a sad smile. "And… welcome home, sir."

* * *

When he found her again, much later, she was curled up in the window seat, the side of her head resting against the glass. Outside, the beautiful, scorching hot day had melted into a late afternoon of heavy rain. Thunder and lightning crackled above in the sky. On the lawns, the caterers and the funfair and the dance floor had all been packed away, the tents soaked through with rain, the empty glasses slowly filling up with rain water as the borrowed footmen rushed their last few trays indoors, the half-eaten plates of food hastily covered up and brought to the kitchens under Mrs Cox's stern supervision.

"My dear?" Sir Anthony asked softly from the doorway.

Edith tore her eyes away from the leaden sky and blinked round at him. "I'm sorry, sir. Do you need something?" As she spoke, she began to rise from the seat. With a soft smile, he motioned her back. "Not at all. Are you all right?" he asked.

"No. Not really." She turned her face back to stare out of the window, a slight, sad huff of laughter escaping her. "This was supposed to be such a _lovely_ day."

His hand was warm, but hesitant on her shoulder. "It _was_, my dear." An echoing chuckle of mirth escaped him, and his thumb swept briefly along her shoulder blade, back and forth. "I got home in time, didn't I?" _The summit of all joys, Edith._

Gently, her hand crept up to cover his, those soft fingers that he adored. "Have you spoken to - to Roger yet?" she wondered. "I'm sorry, I don't know his surname."

She felt his fingers flinch beneath hers but he made no reply. "Well? Have you?"

"Yes." All pretence of levity was dropped. "We… met briefly when I arrived back in London, but the final arrangements… Well, it's… not the sort of conversation to be had over telephone, as I'm sure you understand. I'll… go back to Town tomorrow."

"To enlist." It was not a question, and her voice was so resigned that it made his throat tighten painfully.

He sighed, long and heavy. "Yes. And to see Forrester, too. There are… other details to sort out."

Edith let out a soft, stifled little sob. "I see."

His hand slid from her shoulder and he settled onto the window seat next to her with a slight huff of effort. "Roger and his colleagues… seem to think that I could be useful," he offered eventually. "He's putting me in touch with someone who… well, might need my help."

"Aren't you… too old, for front-line service?" Edith whispered.

"Only just. They'll make an exception, for this sort of work."

"Intelligence work?" Edith prompted quietly.

"I suppose I ought to have known that a clever woman like you would ferret that one out."

Edith blushed. "Just… the phrasing of some things that you said before you went away. I _am_ right, then?"

"Yes, you're quite right, my dear." He shrugged. "I'm only forty-three. I… think it would be… dishonourable not to go, if… if there's any chance that I can be of any use, or spare a younger man for different duties."

"I know," Edith nodded. "But - " She stopped.

"But what, my dear?" he prompted gently.

"But… but I shall be quite selfish and say that I would much rather have you safe and at home and - " Unable to finish her sentence, she buried her face quite suddenly into his jacket and gave full rein to her emotions.

It was like one of those lightning bolts outside had crashed straight through the window and fried him alive - the shock of having her so close, weeping into his chest, saying such lovely things. His arm curved around her helplessly, quite naturally and warmly, holding her close; blindly, she lifted her face, and caught his chin clumsily with her lips, and then he nudged his head down a little, and then they were _together_ again and it was bliss. Aching, glorious bliss.

This second kiss was nothing like the first had been. That embrace, just before Christmas, had been soft and brief and chaste. This latest renewal of affection was none of those things. One of his hands was buried tightly in her hair, holding her flush against him, the other cupping her cheek, his slightly rough thumb sweeping over her soft skin, catching up her tears. Her own hands tightened in his jacket, pulling him closer until she was caught between one side of the window embrasure and his own firm, muscular body. His mouth was hard and insistent on hers and Edith could taste the last faint sharp sweetness of the champagne on his tongue as it ran along her bottom lip, pleading for entry. He seemed thoroughly lost and as the knowledge hit her that she could do this to him, that she could have such power over a man (over _this_ man), Edith heard herself moan, a thoroughly unladylike sound.

It certainly seemed to bring Anthony to his senses. Slowly, he drew back, panting for breath, trying to untangle her hands from his jacket.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he breathed against her skin. "Please… forgive me." Despite his words, though, his mouth pressed damply, fondly against her forehead.

She closed her eyes, still dizzy with want. "No. I'll forgive you nothing." A soft shudder of laughter escaped her and she corrected herself, "I mean… there's _nothing to forgive_. We've done nothing wrong."

He squeezed her elbow, comforting and platonic, and drew away a little further, albeit with difficulty. "_You've_ done nothing wrong, my dear," he corrected. His eyebrow quirked ruefully. "_I_, on the other hand… Well, it's been… a difficult day - though that isn't any sort of an excuse."

"You don't need to make any excuses at all," Edith told him crisply. "_I_ kissed _you_. You didn't force me, or - or back me into a corner, or do anything that I didn't like. I _promise_." She grinned, no hint of maidenly shyness in evidence at all. "Quite the opposite, in fact."

He dropped a grateful kiss on top of her mussed curls, and she tipped her head back with a faint pleading noise, hoping to draw him back to her mouth. Anthony withdrew again. "I know, my dear," he soothed. "You must have been… terribly lonely, here, on your own, for months on end." He shook his head. "Hardly the most riveting life for a clever, exuberant soul like yours. You… needed excitement. I understand."

"_No_. That isn't it, either." Edith could feel herself blushing, but she made herself meet his eyes boldly. "I - I wouldn't go around kissing just anyone, you know!"

"No. Of course not. I'm - I'm sorry. But… well…" He shrugged, and Edith saw the problem in a moment. After the way she had behaved, after they had kissed last time, well, she could hardly blame him for not wishing to press things any further, now, could she?

"I told you once that I cared for you," she murmured, swallowing away the last of her nerves. "But… but that _wasn't_ true. I… my feelings for you are - are _so_ much more than that." She took a deep breath. "I'm… wildly, _ridiculously_ attracted to you, you know. Physically," she added, as if there could be some misinterpretation, after what they'd just done. "And then there's the _rest_ of it."

"The rest of it?"

"Yes. I always feel so… so comfortable and at ease, around you. And… and I - I know that you - that you are not… _indifferent_ to me." She ducked her head apologetically. "I saw your letter to your mother. The one before you sent Pip and me to London. She showed it to me, because I was worried, after you'd gone to Berlin that…"

"My _dear_ mother…" Anthony huffed, affectionate and amused. Slowly, he lifted her hands, one after another, to press his lips to them. "No, I'm not _indifferent_ to you. But I promised myself," he said, the words muffled against her fingers, "I _promised_ myself, after Christmas, that I would let you be in charge, that… if ever another move were to be made, it would be yours to make." He looked up, still holding her hands. "I would have spoken before I went away, but then… how could I, after - after what Gregson did? I didn't _ever_ want you to feel… uncomfortable or as if I were trying to take advantage of you…" His voice broke and stuttered. "_God_, Edith, I've been falling in love with you for so long that I barely remember a time now when I _wasn't_."

For a moment, all that could be heard was the soft sound of their breathing, and the hammering of the rain against the window-panes. Edith knew she was staring, knew that she had been silent for far longer than she ought to have been, following such a confession, but still could not find the words to express the deep, earth-shattering sense of rightness and contentment that had settled into her bones at his words.

Eventually, in lieu of anything more sensible or appropriate to say, she whispered, "Y-you mustn't blaspheme."

His face was quite unreadable. "Edith - "

"Papa? Mrs Crawley?" The door burst open, Pip poked his head around the door, stopped, and then advanced inside. "Are you all right, Mrs C.?"

"Yes, my dear, of course." Edith smiled brightly at him, lifting her right hand to brush away the faint remains of her earlier, silly tears. Behind the shield of her skirts, Anthony was still holding her left one in his own, his thumb rubbing rhythmically over her knuckles.

"You've been _crying_," Pip protested.

"Touch of hay-fever, I think." Hastily, she hunted for her handkerchief to do a better job; her cheeks felt tight from the saltwater. "Don't fret. We'll be through in a moment."

"If you're sure…" Pip frowned.

"Mmm, promise, my darling," Edith nodded, forcing cheerfulness.

Pip slipped away, still frowning, and sighing over the oddity of the adults Life had plagued him with.

They stood, Anthony still holding her hands. "Darling girl… I - I could be away for - for months. _Years,_ even. Really, we'd be fools even to consider - "

"Forgive me," Edith managed very politely, "but I disagree completely." She couldn't stop bubbles of happiness popping up in her tummy. Her lips still tingling from his kisses and shock was fast melting into joy and making her bold. "I think that… at a time like this, when life will be so - _so_ uncertain… we ought to be grasping every single opportunity for happiness. Don't you see?" She squeezed his hands. "And you certainly make me happy. Extraordinarily so."

He took a deep, steadying breath and then reeled her slowly into his embrace. Edith went willingly, relieved that he no longer seemed inclined to pull away from her. Her head settled against his chest, over his heart, and Anthony tipped his head down to rest his cheek against her hair. "I must go to London tomorrow," he reminded her regretfully. "Sweet one… if what you say you feel is true, then… I think… that you should take that time, to consider whether… getting involved with a serving soldier is what you really want. Whether getting involved with _me_ _in particular_ is what you want."

"And if it is?" Her smile was trembling.

"Then… we go on from there." His head lifted, and one broad, careful hand tipped her chin up so that he could look her steadily in the eye. "But… promise me that you will think _very_ carefully, darling girl. It… it wouldn't just be me that you'd be taking on, you know."

"I know." Her eyes were clear and confident as she looked up at him. "There's Pip to consider, and the house… and your standing in the county." Edith swallowed and quirked a rueful eyebrow. "_You_ might be wise to spend some time considering yourself - whether _you_ want to get involved with a woman like _me_."

"I am _completely_ certain already."

"Even with my connection to Matthew," she reminded him solemnly, "I'm not… not really of your class, am I?"

"I am a gentleman, you are a gentleman's daughter; so far we are equal." He grinned lopsidedly. "You see, I _do_ read more than Dickens, and farming manuals." He pulled her back into his embrace. "My dear, we've spent far too long being subtle and polite with each other. I _love_ you. I would love you if you had been an Earl's daughter, and I would love you if you had been a fatherless scullery maid. That's all there is to it, I'm afraid."

It was the _nicest_ thing anyone had ever said to her.

"We should go through to Pip," Edith murmured at last. "I don't think you want him to interrupt us again."

"Heavens, no!" he agreed, eyes alive with alarm. "I certainly don't!"

He turned to go but Edith stayed him with a gentle hand to his arm. "You know, don't you, that I love you too?"

He tilted his head to the side. "Well… I did have an inkling." His voice was a low, soft, teasing rumble. "But then I always have been an exceptionally observant chap."

Edith's laugh was equally quiet. "Oh, yes. I'd forgotten that." His arm came around her waist again and tucked her into his side, his mouth pressing softly to the top of her head. "Anthony…" she sighed faintly after a moment. "We really mustn't. Pip would be terribly shocked." He hummed in agreement but made no move to separate them. "_Anthony_…" she insisted, looking up at him.

"_Edith…_" he mocked.

"Oh, we could do this for _hours_," Edith tutted. "Right… one more kiss on the count of three, and then we shall be sensible for the rest of the day."

"All right." Anthony dusted her cheek with his thumb. "One… two…" On what should have been 'three', her mouth softly met his.

Regretfully, they kissed… and parted.


	77. Together

**5****th**** August 1914**

"Sir Anthony Strallan, for Sir Richard."

The housemaid stepped back and admitted him with a polite smile. "Good morning, sir."

"Oh, Sir Anthony!" Lady Carlisle's surprised voice made him look up to where she was coming quickly down the stairs, baby in arms. "Were we expecting you?"

"I telephoned your husband very late last night, Lady Carlisle, and he very kindly agreed to spare me five minutes of his time."

"Oh, call me Mary, please." Guiding him into the sitting room and shutting the door behind them, she added, "I understand that this family has a lot to thank you for, one way or another."

"Not at all." He nodded at the baby. "Congratulations. Miss Victoria, is it?"

"Yes." Mary's rather sharp face softened. "Victoria Mary. Her papa insisted."

The door opened at that moment and 'Papa' walked in. Kissing the baby's forehead and brushing a warm thumb over the crease where his wife's neck and shoulder met, Sir Richard smiled at Anthony. "Strallan, hello. Apologies for my tardiness."

"Not at all - your wife was keeping me very well entertained."

"And now," Mary said to Richard, "Victoria and I will leave you to your meeting." She kissed his cheek, and gave Anthony a thin smile. "Goodbye, Sir Anthony."

"Lady Carlisle."

In the hall, Mama waited for her. "Did I hear Anthony Strallan's voice, Mary?"

Mary nodded. "Yes. He's here to talk to Richard about something. Looked rather anxious, Heaven knows why." A thought struck her. "You don't think… well, you don't think it's something to do with Edith, do you?"

Mama's face lit up. "Oh, I _do_ hope so! To have all of you settled… it would be such a relief!"

"Well, I suppose she has made herself terribly useful to him." A little grudgingly, Mary admitted, "He's making a sensible decision."

* * *

He climbed out of the car just as Locksley's front door opened - and all his weariness melted quite away. Edith stood there shyly, but as he walked towards her, a smile crept on to her face. He stretched out a hand to her, and she took it, and lifted it to her mouth and kissed it, eyes closed.

"You considered, then?" he asked.

"For all of ten minutes," she teased gently. "It was all I needed."

"I'm much older - " Anthony reminded her.

"Not _terribly_ much. Only enough to make me feel safe." Edith had started speaking before the last syllable had quite died from his lips. "You always have done, you know."

"Till I die, I'll be in harness to the estate - "

" - which I _love_."

"There's Pip." He did not know why he felt so compelled to continue offering excuses as to why she should turn tail and run. Edith was clearly tired of them, however, because she pressed a gentle finger to his lips, silencing him.

"You know I adore him." She blushed. "And… and he'd make a splendid older brother, down the line. I think. If you wanted a… w-wife. More little ones."

"My dear girl," he sighed, half-exasperated, his eyebrows lifted, making him look even more owlish than usual, "what on _Earth_ do you think we've been discussing, if not marriage?"

As he spoke, he led her inside, towards the library, his hand warm and solid against the small of her back. "Well," Edith reminded him carefully, "you've not _directly_ asked me." Chewing her lip, she whispered, "I… didn't want to presume anything."

"We're at war. I'm going away to fight, for God knows how long." Anthony's thumb stroked along her spine. "Are you _sure_ you wouldn't rather wait, until after all this horrid business is done with?"

"You _are_ going away to fight," Edith agreed simply. "And I _know_ you say you'll be careful, but I also understand that you might not be able to be." She leaned back to fix him with a serious expression. "And… and if that's the case, then I don't want to be… kept out of things. If you were hurt, I'd want the telegram to come to me, I'd want to be the first to know." She swallowed noisily. "Of course, I very much hope that none of this is going to be necessary, but… I want… some legal part in your life, if the worst _should_ happen."

"And what if it does?" Gently, he pressed, "If… if I were - badly wounded, say, or - or _killed_ \- "

"It won't change the way I feel." Her voice was firm and did not shake, despite the tremor of horror that had run through her at his words. "Even if we weren't engaged, I would still want to mourn you as a woman mourns the man she would have married. A ring and a few words won't make any difference to _me_, to _us_, but they _will_ to whatever low-ranking staff officer deals with paperwork and telegrams about soldiers who are injured or missing or…" She stopped, her hand drifting up to his cheek. "Anthony, _please_ understand what I'm trying to say."

He exhaled, loudly. "All right. But… if anything should happen… if you change your mind, all you need do is tell me, and I'll release you, immediately. I promise."

"And _I_ promise that I am absolutely certain about you." She took both his hands in hers. "I can think of nothing I want more than to be your wife. Honestly."

"Well… in that case." He searched her eyes for a moment longer, and then their hands still linked, knelt in front of her. "Edith Margaret Crawley, will you please consider consenting to be my wife?"

Her face was solemn as she bent and kissed him, soft and sweet and full on the mouth. "Yes," she whispered as they parted. "I'd be honoured."

He stood, a little dazed. "Good Lord," he murmured, after a moment. "I haven't a ring to give you." In all the fuss and commotion of London, and the various errands he had to run, he hadn't even thought of it.

"I don't care about a ring," she reassured him.

He rifled around in his waistcoat, and drew out his pocket watch. "Well… just until we can find you something more appropriate, will you take this from me instead?"

Edith's fingers brushed softly over his as he surrendered the metal into her hands. "I will take anything you're willing to offer me."

They stood looking at each other rather shyly for a moment, and then Edith let the slow, brilliantly happy smile that she had been holding in spread full across her face. Without warning, she threw her arms around him.

Anthony laughed, and held her close. "Happy, sweet one?"

"_Blissful_," she murmured into the collar of his jacket. "Just blissful."

"And you're _sure_? Not just… avoiding breaking a serving soldier's heart?"

Edith clung to him, her feet nearly off the floor, rejoicing that, at last, after so long spent wanting and waiting and desiring him, she was allowed to do this - to hold him so close and so tight, and feel his embrace and his kisses in turn. "_Never_. I feel as if… as if I'm living in a lovely dream, and I never want to wake up."

* * *

"Mama, Pip…" Anthony announced at breakfast the next morning. "Mrs Crawley and I… have some news for you."

"Oh?"

"You're not leaving again?" Pip worried.

Edith laid a reassuring hand on his. "No. Q-quite the opposite, in fact. A couple of days ago… your Papa asked if I'd - if I'd like to marry him. And I said that I would."

Pip threw his arms around her shoulders; Lady Strallan exclaimed aloud with joy. Edith caught sight of Anthony and he was grinning, broad and proud as punch.

"Oh, my dears - such _lovely_ news! Have you a ring?" Lady Strallan asked, her sharp eyes scanning Edith's fingers.

"Not yet," Anthony intervened. "We haven't had time to - to sort that out."

"I don't mind - I've told you," Edith reassured him.

"Nonsense." Anne's voice was very firm as she rose from the table. "Just give me a moment…"

A few minutes later, she returned, holding a ring box in her hand. "Here," she smiled at Edith. "A family heirloom. Most appropriate, even if it wasn't originally intended as an engagement ring. And it will suit your hand very nicely, I think."

Edith opened the box, and Anthony looked over her shoulder. A slim gold band topped with a row of shining rubies winked up at her. "_Anne_…"

"This was Grandmama's, wasn't it, Mama?" Anthony asked, his arm around Edith's waist.

"Yes. The finest piece of jewellery she owned. A gift from her papa when she married."

"Oh, but - but shouldn't it go to Mrs Chetwood?" Edith worried.

"Diana'll get plenty of other nice pieces in my will. Besides, I've always been of the opinion that jewellery should be shared out between _all_ the women of the family." Kissing Edith's cheek, she winked, "And when you're old and grey, my dear, you can pass this particular trinket on to _your_ daughter."

"Well, sweet one?" Anthony murmured into her hair. "What do you think?"

"I _love_ it," Edith whispered, letting him slide it carefully onto her left hand. This done, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. "Thank you."

"And thank _you_, for saying yes."

Pip piped up, "Will I still have to call you 'Mrs C' after you marry Papa, Mrs C?"

Edith laughed and kissed the top of his head. "I shouldn't think so, no. What should you _like_ to call me, my dear?" she asked, amused.

Pip hesitated, then leant up to close the scant inch between his mouth and her ear, and whispered something that the others could not hear. Edith drew back, blinking away a tear or two. "I think, my darling," she sniffed, "that that will do _very_ nicely indeed."

"And, as an interim measure," Anthony added, "what about 'Aunt Edith'?"

"'Aunt Edith'," Pip mused aloud. "I like that."

"And so do I," Edith agreed. "Now, isn't Veronica expecting you at Orton Park this morning?"

"Mmm. I'd better go." At the door, he asked, "Can I tell her and Lady Flora about you and Papa? They'll be ever so pleased, won't they?"

"Well, I hope so!" Edith chuckled. "Yes, if you like."

Pip hugged her again, bumped a rough kiss to her cheek, said, "See you later, Aunt E!" and dashed for the door.

As his footsteps clattered down the passage, Edith called after him, "But… tell them in confidence, hmm?!"

There was no reply. In dismay, she looked at Anthony and wondered, "Are we making it _very_ public yet?"

Anthony squeezed her hand. "My dear, I want to shout it so loudly that everyone from here to Kirby Moorside knows about it." At Edith's anxious face, he softened. "Look, we'll… tell a few people and just let the news… filter out naturally, hmm?"

"Yes," Anne agreed helpfully. "From what I've heard, no one will say anything worse than 'Whatever took you so long?', I promise." She kissed Edith's cheek and then Anthony's. "Congratulations, darlings. Now, I'll leave you to your morning's work."

"When I'm in London next," Anthony added, as his mother slipped from the breakfast room, "I'll put a notice in _The Times._"

"Heavens," Edith murmured as Anthony led her into the study. "I haven't even told Mama - or Richard!"

Anthony bit his lip. "Will you be frightfully cross if I say that he already knows? When I was in London, I… called on him."

Edith blinked up at him. "Oh. You… you asked his permission?"

"Yes." He kissed her forehead. "I wanted to do things properly for you, that's all. And I know he takes a keen interest."

"What did he say?"

"That it was your decision, and he'd back you to the hilt whatever you said." One side of his mouth quirked up. "_Much_ less frightening than it was asking Maude's father for permission to marry her."

Edith kissed his cheek. "Good. So… that's that. Engaged. It seems you've thought of everything."

"Yes," he nodded, and turned to her desk, where a neat manila folder of paperwork rested. "I hope that I have."

Following his gaze, Edith wondered, "What's all this?"

Anthony gave her a slightly anxious smile. "Just… some paperwork I'd like you to sign, before I go."

Edith sat down slowly in the chair that Anthony pulled out for her. "I… see. What sort of paperwork?"

Anthony reached across her and opened the folder, tapping the first document with one long forefinger as Edith reached for her fountain-pen. "A document giving you power of attorney for important decisions here - the estate, the bank, the other properties, Pip's schooling, my investments - you'll need to sign that one." He set it aside and tapped the sheaf below it, at least five documents which had been pinned together with an India tag. "Copies of some letters I've written to the relevant people, directing them to take their instructions from you. And…" He stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose as he lifted them aside to reveal the final piece of paper. "A document making provision for you, as my fiancée. I thought… well, better sooner than later, in case of… of accident."

"_Provision?_" Edith swallowed. "As in… _money?_"

"Yes. Look, I know your father didn't leave you… well off. I - I'd like to see you secure."

She looked up at him, bewildered. "Secure?"

He nodded silently. Edith searched through the paperwork, scanned her eyes down one of the thick sheets and then her mouth dropped open. "_Three thousand pounds?_" she squeaked. "You want to settle _three thousand pounds _on me?"

He shrugged, a little sheepishly. "Yes. It would have been more - but I didn't think your pride would let you accept it."

"Well, I'm not going to accept _this_, either!"

"Oh, yes, you will," Anthony replied firmly.

"No! I won't!" She flew up from her seat, looking utterly panicked. "Is that what you think I want from you? Your _fortune?_ Anthony - "

"No, no, absolutely not." His hands settled gently on her elbows, holding her still. "I don't think that _at all_. But… I _would_ like you to - to come to this - this marriage with some measure of independence. Everything is in your name, signed over irrevocably. Please?"

Edith tugged herself out of his grasp and looked over the papers spread out in front of her. "But the estate… surely you can't just remove so much money from it all at once - "

He chuckled. "You tell me. You manage the accounts. You know - probably down to the last farthing - exactly how much I'm worth."

She folded her arms across her chest, eyes narrowed. "What if you need it?"

"I shan't."

"But - "

"No ifs, no buts." He held out the pen to her insistently. "You're my fiancée, and I will act as I see fit where your interests are concerned to ensure that you are secure."

Slowly, Edith lowered herself back into her chair. "Whatever will your mother say about it?"

"When I told her, she wanted to know why I was being so miserly with you, and stomped off to the archive to look up her marriage settlement. She's sure my father was more generous with her."

Edith's lips quirked at that, but it was still a faint, anxious smile. "But I… I can't offer you anything in return."

"I don't _ask_ for anything." He lowered his voice and added, firmly and insistently, "This _will_ be a marriage of equals, Edith. I _won't_ have people thinking I've manipulated a powerless, penniless woman into matrimony!"

"Oh." Suddenly everything became clear. "I see. I suppose, when you put it like that… well… all right." She sighed. "I - I suppose I can bear it."

Anthony kissed her cheek affectionately as she began bravely to sign. "There, there, my dear. Cheer up." His smile became wicked. "You ought to get used to being taken care of, because once we're married, there'll be a horrid old monthly allowance, too…"

* * *

A soft hesitant knock on his bedroom door roused Anthony from - well, from abject sleeplessness. He was caught exactly halfway between misery and bliss - bliss that that lovely girl down the corridor, whom he had adored for years, wanted him precisely as much as he wanted her; and misery that all too soon, he was to be torn away from her, for what could be years, if Mayhew's predictions were correct. It seemed… so very unfair - for her, as well as for him. If he weren't only too aware of what could happen once he left for the Front - death or injury or worse - then he'd marry her tomorrow and hang the consequences.

Stumbling to the door, he pulled it open to find the object of his thoughts standing there, coppery hair loose about her shoulders, with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders over her nightgown, and bare toes that she was anxiously crimping into the carpet outside his door. "Sweet one? Is something wrong? What time is it?"

She shrugged, giving him a shaky, embarrassed smile. "Late enough that propriety dictates I shouldn't be here. But - but I had to come to speak to you."

Confused, he stepped aside, leaning his head out of the door to check that the coast was clear. "Then you had better come in."

Hesitantly, she stepped past him into the bedroom. It was a masculine room, all crimson walls and dark wood fittings - an oak four-poster in the centre of the room, piled with the eiderdown and blankets and a comfortable mass of pillows. Books and papers cluttered the bedside table - the one place she never got in to tidy. It was so thoroughly _Anthony_ that she instantly felt herself beginning to relax, her shoulders coming down from around her ears, her breath steadying itself.

Anthony took her hand and led her to the wide ottoman at the foot of the bed. He sat, and Edith, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, propped herself on his leg, so that she were almost sitting in his lap. His arm curved round her, holding her steady, and Edith nestled her head against his shoulder. It felt so natural - to hold him, to be held by him. Oh, how had she gone without this for so very long? They sat there quite silently for some minutes, until Anthony kissed the side of her head, and murmured, "Better, my darling one?"

"I… I've been sitting alone in my room thinking until I thought I should go mad and I…" Her voice, already quiet, broke off.

Anthony swallowed. "You've come to tell me that you've had a change of heart."

"What?" She lifted her head, a deep frown settling on her brow. "_No_! No, not at all. I came because… because I can't bear to be without you tonight." She blushed up at him. "Please? Let me stay with you tonight? Just hold me, like you did that night in London?"

"Are you sure? If someone walked in…"

"I don't care." She sighed. "After Friday, you'll be gone for goodness only knows how long. I've had my fill of being cautious and I - I want to make the most of the time we have with each other."

His eyes were solemn as he watched her. He knew very well what he _should_ say - he should politely and kindly remind her that this could very well turn out to be something she would regret, kiss her goodnight and send her off to her own bed. The only problem was… his heart agreed with her, even if his head didn't. And - looking at the anxious frown creasing her brow - he realised that she needed this, this reassurance, before he went away. "Very well," he agreed at last. "If you're sure, my darling."

"I am." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you think me terribly wanton?"

He shook his head. "I think you're terribly _lovely_." Gently, he stood, bringing her to her feet with him. "Come on, then."

Carefully, he peeled back the bedclothes and Edith slid in, stretching her toes into the warm patch he'd left. "Mmm," she sighed contentedly, closing her eyes, and she felt him getting gingerly back into the bed. The eiderdown shifted as he folded it carefully back over himself, and reached up to switch the bedside light off, and then they lay there together in silence. After a moment, Edith rolled over to face him. There was a clear two handspans of space between them. "You're very far away," she observed in a whisper.

Anthony turned his head to look at her. "Am I?"

Edith nodded and as she did so, Anthony rolled and came to rest next to her, his hands on either side of her cheeks. "Better?" he murmured and Edith nodded.

Gently, he bent his head and kissed her. What started off gentle and sweet, however, soon progressed into something much more passionate. Anthony's hands buried themselves in her hair, and Edith's slid up to his shoulders; his tongue trailed along the bottom of her lip and sucked hard, making Edith groan. "_Anthony_… _yes…_" he heard her breathe.

Anthony kissed her forehead - really just a press of his lips to her skin - and reached for her hand as he rolled away again. Dazedly, she blinked up at him.

"Why did you stop?" she breathed. "Did I - do something wrong? S-something you didn't like?"

His face creased with sympathy. "Oh, sweet one, _no_," he sighed, and she thrilled, as she had been all day, to hear him call her that. _Sweet one,_ so affectionate and natural and… oh, perfect. "You're _lovely_, and quite possibly the most distracting creature I have ever met. I adore you - but while kissing might _just_ be permissible outside of wedlock, _those_ sorts of kisses are only going to lead us to places we shouldn't go before we're married."

"You could, you know," Edith whispered to the ceiling. She shrugged her shoulders against the mattress. "It wouldn't be as if you were - were taking my innocence. Anthony… you could have all of me tonight, if you wanted."

Anthony tugged her closer until her head rested on his chest, swallowing away the thick desire clogging up his throat. "You're _far_ too precious to me. Besides, when we make love for the first time, neither of us will be leaving this bed for at _least_ twenty-four hours afterwards - and just now, we haven't that sort of time."

"_Anthony_…" Edith covered her face with a hand, but it didn't stop him from seeing her smile and her sheepish blushes.

He tugged at her wrist, baring her face again, and brushed a strand of Edith's hair away from her cheek before kissing her very chastely and carefully, shaking his head as he did so. "You deserve so much more than - than some hasty, ill-advised… _tumble_… before I march off to war_._" Even in the half-light, she thought she could detect his blushes. "I worry that…" His fingers lingered over the patch on her cheek where Michael had left her bruised as he reframed what he was about to say. "I want you. To borrow your phrase, I find you wildly attractive. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I adore and respect you." He smiled. "And because of all those things, I'm not going to bed you until you're my wife."

She half-sat up, biting her lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't think at all about how difficult this would be for you. I was being selfish. I should probably go back to my own room now." Edith reached for the corner of the quilt, ready to throw it back, and found Anthony's hand stopping her.

"No!" Reassuringly, he reached out and brushed a fond hand against her cheek. "No, my sweet one, _not at all_. This - " (he gestured between them) " - is very nice. But… I want you to be sure that you can trust me."

"I _do_ trust you." She frowned anxiously. "But… men… _have needs_, don't they?"

Anthony's eyebrows flew up almost into his hairline and he laughed. "Nonsense," he snorted. "Or… nonsense in the way you mean it." He kissed her fingers. "Look, if I can't lie in a bed next to you at night without behaving like a boor, then you have worse things to worry about than my 'needs', I assure you. I _promise_ you, my darling, respecting you isn't difficult at all. The last thing I'd ever want to do is make you uncomfortable, or let you believe that the only way to be close to me is… is like _that._"

Edith rolled to look up at him. After a long moment, "I never slept with - with _him_," she confessed. "I mean… I never… _fell asleep_ with him. He - he was always too anxious that the housekeeper or the housemaid or - or anyone else would… walk in and find us and tell his father-in-law what was going on." She rolled her eyes. "So… we'd… you know… in his bed, and then… I'd go back to my own room to sleep." She chuckled. "After that, there's nothing you could do that could make me feel in any way uncomfortable. I promise."

"Oh, my sweet one…"

Edith shook her head. "No. Don't be sad. I'm not. If I hadn't worked for Michael - if I hadn't needed to get away from him… well, I might never have met you. And I could _never_ regret that." Quietly, she confessed, "I don't think I've ever been so happy in my life. Is that terribly selfish, at a time like this?"

"You're the least selfish person I've ever met." Anthony tucked her close into his side and kissed the top of her head. "But… there's an east wind coming, my sweet one, I won't deny it."

Edith wiggled her cold feet between Anthony's and snuggled close. "Then we shall just have to keep each other warm, won't we? As best we can."


	78. Locksley At War

**AN: Thanks for all the lovely reviews for the last chapter; we have little time jump here - if Fellowes is allowed to do it, so am I.**

* * *

**Miss Edith Crawley, to her fiancé, Major Sir Anthony Strallan, 25****th**** July 1916**

_Darling Anthony,_

_You will never know how relieved I was to receive your last, and to know that you are still safe and well. The papers here are still full of reports on the continuing action along the Somme, and Mrs Howes at March Farm received a letter this week from her eldest boy's commanding officer - 'missing, presumed killed in action.' Such an awful thing, that word 'presumed'. It leaves so much room for hope, doesn't it? Much better for the awful blow to fall immediately, rather than leave people unable to face up to it._

_We are all well here. Pip is working hard and has been a great help at home. Last week, he scored a six in his cricket match, and I'm sure his letter to you will contain a full 'match report'. He may also mention something about wanting to learn to drive. He __will__ be sixteen in January [1], I suppose - and Veronica says she'll make an exception and let him into the car club if you give your permission. See how modern we're being? Seriously, though, darling, it might be good for him - and useful to have another driver in the house, should there be a need. He's turning into a man, as much as it breaks my heart, and I only wish you were here to see it. I pray every morning and every evening for that - for a speedy conclusion to this horrid war, and to have you in my arms again. _

_I went down to London at the end of last week to discuss the interest from the last financial quarter with Mr Forrester - all trundling along perfectly well, although he advises a few minor changes. I shall include my notes in with this letter, so you can help me to decide. London looks so strange, with so few young men about. All hail the Military Service Act [2], one supposes. Mama pressed me into luncheon at Carlisle House, and Mary was saying how relieved she is that Richard's age puts him out of it. Richard - very gently - pointed out that not __every__ woman around the table was so lucky, and __she actually apologised!__ Perhaps we have something to thank Kaiser Bill for after all._

_I oughtn't to joke about it, I know. Funny, isn't it, darling, how quickly we have become so hardened to so much death and tragedy all around us? Except it isn't funny at all, it's desperately, desperately sad. Since Matthew was called up, Isobel's been practically inconsolable and Flora tells me that Lavinia's thrown her whole heart into the work they're doing at Downton with the convalescent officers. It almost sounds to me as if she's trying to work herself into exhaustion, but I suppose that leaves her less time to worry. At least, I presume she's worrying. Is it possible to be married to a man, and have his son, and be in this situation, and __not__ worry, whatever he might have done in the past, however horridly he might have behaved? I'm not sure it would matter to me._

_Anyway, don't worry a bit about us, darling - we just love you and miss you and want you home safely as soon as ever you can reach us. It seems an age since your last bit of leave…_

* * *

**Miss Edith Crawley, to Lady Anne Strallan, 28****th**** July 1916**

_…Nevertheless, Anne, I'm starting to feel so very __useless__. I'd volunteer at the hospital, but really the last thing Dr Clarkson needs at Downton is an amateur just dropping in to play for a couple of hours every week, whenever she can spare the time. I've done a bit of work with Flora and her Belgian refugees, but really she has everything so well in hand, that I'm sure I was more of a hindrance than a help. It doesn't make it any better to look about me and feel that every other woman in my social circle is making more of a contribution. Veronica's busy on the land, of course, and every time I hear from Sybil, it seems as if her world is growing bigger and bigger, especially now she's nursing at Endell Street [3]. Who ever would have thought two years ago that the government would let a group of women - let alone a group of avowed suffragettes - run an entire military hospital, but here we are! War makes strange bedfellows of us all. Even Molly has her work as a postwoman. And what am __I__ doing? Knitting balaclavas and managing charity committees, that's what. Hardly essential work, is it?_

_Rationally, I __know__ I have important responsibilities - managing the house and the servants, and looking after Pip, but sometimes it __feels__ so very little. I can't say how glad we'll be to see you at the end of the month - you always give such sensible, reassuring advice. It may be worse than that, this time, though - just now, I feel as if what I really need is a very firm, very loving __shake__._

_I'm sorry. I didn't intend this to be such a glum missive. I can't write any of this to Anthony, though - the last thing he needs is to be worrying about me, when he has so many more important things to be focusing his attention on. I shouldn't complain - he's safe and well, when there are so many others about me who have lost fathers or husbands or sons or brothers. Next to that, what do my silly little problems really matter?_

_ With all our love,_

_ Edith x_

* * *

**_Lady Anne Strallan, to Miss Edith Crawley, 31_****_st_****_ July 1916_**

_Dearest Edith,_

_Don't apologise. I think all of us at home have had moments over the last two years where we have felt useless. I blame all these wretched propaganda posters myself - 'Your Country Needs You', and 'The Empire Needs Men' and 'There Is Still A Place In The Line For You'. All very well for the men, but where does that leave us? It makes us feel as if the work we're already doing isn't enough. But, darling, it absolutely is. They're saying 'every fit woman can release a fit man' - and that's __precisely__ what you're doing, releasing Anthony from his work here so that he can fight. As much as it pains me to say it, sometimes a woman's place really __is__ in the home. _

_But that doesn't mean that you should let yourself fall prey to despair. You're an intelligent woman, with skills and a brain. I've no objection, you know, to extending my visit to give you more of a chance to pitch in with the war effort, if that's what you'd like. I think there are plenty of women still left in London to arrange officers' teas - one fewer won't lead to societal collapse. And things will get easier once's Pip's on school holidays again. Don't be afraid of asking him to do his bit around the household either; good experience for him, I should have thought. One day, in the __very distant future__, he __is__ going to be the ringmaster for this particular circus, after all._

_Don't worry, darling. I'll see you in two weeks' and we'll concoct a plan. And stop all this nonsense about needing a shake, too. It sounds to me as if what you need is a bit of __cherishing__. You can't look after everyone else without first looking after yourself, you know. When's Anthony next due some leave?…_

* * *

**Major Sir Anthony Strallan, to his fiancée, Miss Edith Crawley, 5****th**** August 1916**

_My dearest darling,_

_I hope this finds you and Pip and all at Locksley well and safe. You don't know how cheering it is to have one of those envelopes handed to me and see your familiar writing, and get a taste of home. I continue well - and if I mustn't worry for you, then you must __promise__ not to worry for me. Our work here is progressing well, although I shan't say more for fear of upsetting the censor and risking this not reaching you at all._

_I was sorry to read of Peter Howes' death - we must see what we can do for his mother. The younger boy's thirteen now, isn't he? Not an awful lot of help, however hard he might work, but from what I remember, he's very bright - and __I am determined__ that he'll stay on at school past fourteen, even if I have to institute a scholarship myself to ensure it. Can Veronica spare anyone else to help Mrs Howes with the farm work, do you suppose? Things must have been difficult since the call-up took her last labourer [4], and this will have been a hard blow to her, particularly after burying her husband this year too. Please reassure her that we've no intention of taking her rent for this quarter, or for next. When they send her the paperwork about a pension, will you help her with it, sweet one? Too often in these situations, a man's dependents go without their dues because they don't realise what they're entitled to._

_Talking of a man's dependents, I think Pip's idea of learning to drive is a good one - although one likely to strike fear into a father's (and I daresay a mother's!) heart. I trust Veronica, as you do, and as you say, he is so very nearly a man. When I was home last, I confess that on the train journey up to you, I imagined that I would be greeted by that eager, mischievous boy running down Locksley's stairs; instead, I had my hand nearly shaken off by a young man almost as tall as I! The only thing that consoles me is knowing that he's safe in your own darling hands. Every day I thank God and my good luck for blessing me with a woman as capable and kind and clever as you for my future wife._

_I know this won't reach you until the end of the week [5], darling, but I wanted to write today anyway, on this our second anniversary. It hasn't been nearly so easy this time around, what with two years' being cotton. Paper was __so__ much easier to manage. In any case, I hope you will find the handkerchiefs useful. _

_Ridiculous, isn't it? If none of this had happened, we would have spent this day together, and I'd have given you a dozen red roses and probably some jewels too - and here I am instead sending you something to blow your nose with! Let's hope that next year we'll be together, safe at home and that our anniversary will be falling on a __different__ day, for a __different__ reason. Will we have to start all over again at paper, do you think, or will we be able to skip straight to leather? When this blasted war is over, when I walk through Locksley's doors again, I want so much to sit down with you and plan that lovely bright future we're going to have…._

* * *

**1: As I understand it, at this point in Britain, there was no age restriction applied to driving. This didn't change until the Road Traffic Act 1930, which was also the first law to bring in a type of driving test(!)**

**2: The Military Service Act 1916 brought in conscription for the first time in the war; it originally only covered single men aged between 18 and 41 who weren't in a reserved occupation, but later edits to the Act extended it to cover married men. By the end of the war, all men aged 51 or under were liable for the call-up.**

**3: Endell Street Military Hospital in Covent Garden opened in 1915 and was the only military hospital entirely staffed by women, all of them suffragists. The hospital was run by doctors Louisa Garrett-Anderson (daughter of Elizabeth) and Flora Murray, and shared the WSPU motto of 'Deeds, Not Words.' At the outbreak of war, the two women started the Women's Hospital Corps under the aegis of the French Red Cross - when the British War Office saw how well-organised they were, and what excellent outcomes they achieved for their patients, they invited them back to Britain to open and run Endell Street. During the War, staff at Endell Street published a total of seven publications in _The Lancet,_ which were the first hospital-based research papers published by female doctors. Murray later published a book about her wartime experiences, which she dedicated to Anderson, 'Bold, cautious, true and my loving companion.' The two women, who were both awarded CBEs for their work at Endell Street, lived together from 1914 until Flora's death in 1923, and are buried together; their shared tombstone bears the inscription, "We have been gloriously happy." **

**4: Farming was technically a reserved occupation during the war, but this didn't always extend to farm labourers, who were less likely to be seen as essential to the home front, and who sometimes did get conscripted. **

**5: The speed of written communication between England and the Front was one of the things that really surprised me when researching this chapter; letters posted from London could normally reach the Western Front in three days, letters from the Front back home normally arrived within a week. By 1917, British soldiers were sending home between 1 and 2 million letters and postcards every day.**


	79. A Sword, A Horse, A Shield

**October 1916**

"_On October 1_," Pip read aloud from the newspaper in front of him [1], "_the L.31 was one of 11 airships which crossed the North Sea. Mathy crossed north of Lowestoft (a new route for him), and, travelling more slowly than usual, came north of Chelmsford to Kelvedon Hatch, where he was picked up by searchlights. He turned north-west to Hertford, which he reached at 11. There he shut off his engines and drifted on the wind. At 11.30 he started off again south at a high speed and under heavy fire. At Cheshunt he seems to have abandoned all idea of reaching London. He unloaded his bombs, and no sooner had this process begun than his airship was seen suddenly to turn to starboard. She went west, evidently injured, was followed by Lieutenant Tempest, and brought down at Potters Bar, breaking into two as she fell._" He lowered the newspaper and looked across the table at Edith. "Crikey, Aunt E."

"Quite." Edith took a sip of tea through pursed lips and watched as Anne laid a hand on her grandson's arm.

"Not at the breakfast table, hmm, darling?"

Pip shot Edith a stricken look. "Sorry, Aunt E. I - I wasn't thinking."

Edith gave him a weak smile. "It's all right, my love. At least it wasn't London, this time, hmm?" Anthony had written personally to Richard as soon as the zeppelins had started raining bombs on London, offering to shelter the whole extended family at Locksley for the duration - but Richard had declined, saying he was needed in the capital, at the paper. Mary, showing typical Crawley stubbornness, had flatly refused to either leave her husband, or to send Victoria north with her grandmother. On an almost daily basis, Edith veered between relief at not having to deal with her family's particular brand of difficulties, and terror every time she heard that there had been another raid.

Awkwardly, Pip nodded, folded the paper and stood. "Well, I should be going - be late for school otherwise." At Edith's chair, he stopped and bent to kiss her cheek. "I - I _am_ sorry, Aunt E."

She found and squeezed his hand. "I know. Have a good day."

"You too. I'll see you both this evening."

The breakfast room door shut behind him with a soft, apologetic snap. Anne shook her head. "Heavens. Just when we think he's growing up."

Edith smiled wanly. "He's still a child, in so many ways. He can't help it. He reads something exciting and forgets the horror of it." Her smile faded. "Anne, I pray he never has cause to remember it."

Anne rose and squeezed her shoulder. "Oh, my love… I'm sure Anthony will be home and safe soon. He _must_ be coming up for some leave…"

Edith shrugged. "I don't know." Her voice quivered. "I try not to think about it. If I once give way and start hoping… I'll utterly collapse." She stood, revealing her smock, boots and breeches. "And now I should go too - Mrs Howes will be wondering where I am."

In the hall, Edith was met by Mrs Cox, holding out a string-bag. "Ah, I was just coming to find you, my lamb. Some lunch for you - sandwiches and pickled onions and pork pie and lard cake, and a bottle of ale. Keep you going till your tea."

"Thank you, Mrs Cox." As Edith hoisted the string-bag onto her shoulder, Mrs Cox shook her head with a sigh.

"I'm still not used to you in breeches, my girl."

Edith grinned. "Well, I can't harvest potatoes in skirts, can I?" At Mrs Cox's continued frown, Edith kissed her cheek. "I promise, I'm not wearing this get-up for larks. I'll put a dress on as soon as I get home."

"Just you see as you do. Men around, and them able to see your legs…"

It had been a constant refrain ever since Edith had started work on Mrs Howes' farm. At first, Edith had made do with a pair of Anthony's riding breeches, belted tight around her waist and rolled up and shoved into a pair of Wellington boots at the bottom. Eventually, Flora had taken pity on her and helped her make a pair of her own, however, along with a knee-length smock to wear over them. She was still wearing one of Anthony's rough shirts, though - and was _not_ intending to replace it any time soon.

Anne had clapped her hands in delight when she had first seen Edith's new outfit. Mrs Dale had smiled quietly. Pip had been thoroughly impressed. Mrs Cox, however, had been less enthusiastic.

"I know, Mrs Cox," Edith said, as she always did. "But I _have_ got my smock - and there aren't an awful lot of men about anyway."

"Well… what the master'd say, I don't know." At Edith's fragile little smile, however, her face softened and she patted Edith's cheek. "You mind how you go, now, my lamb - and there'll be steak and kidney pudding for you later."

Edith waited until she was out of the front door and halfway down the drive on her bicycle before she let a few tears fall. She sometimes wondered about that. What _would_ Anthony say, if he were here? Of course, she'd told him that she was helping Mrs Howes a little, but she'd been rather vague about it. Perhaps he presumed that she was doing a little paperwork here and there, or running errands. Perhaps he'd disapprove of his fiancée running around in breeches, driving ploughs and harvesting crops.

Stopping at Locksley's gates, Edith swiped at her eyes with her gloved hand and took a deep steadying breath. _Needs must, that's all. And when he's home on leave again, you can tell him everything._ With this somewhat cheering thought, Edith pushed off along the lane to Mrs Howes.

* * *

_…Really, V., you'd be a tremendous help to us out here. You've got a steady hand, you don't shock easily, and you're a damned good driver, to boot. We're crying out for sensible types like you. If you really want to be doing something more useful than ploughing fields, drop me a line and I'll get you sorted out. Honestly, my dear - _

"V?" Flora's sweet voice rang out along the passage and Veronica looked up, startled, from the letter she was reading. "V, luncheon's ready, where are you?" She was getting closer. "V?"

Hastily, Veronica jumped up from the desk, screwed up the letter, pulled open the top desk drawer, shoved it in and slammed the drawer shut… just as Flora rounded the open study door, smiling. "Here you are! Didn't you hear me calling?"

"Yes, sorry - just… finishing off a bit of paperwork. Sorry."

Flora drew up short. "Is everything all right, darling?"

"Absolutely tip-top." Veronica hurried around the desk, wincing as she bashed her hip in her haste to usher Flora out. "What's for luncheon?"

"Pork chops."

"Excellent," Veronica replied, absently.

Flora stopped dead in the hallway. "Veronica May Orton, tell me what's wrong _this instant!"_

Veronica threw out her arms in a gesture of utter, deceitful incomprehension. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You _despise_ pork chops. You always complain whenever Mrs Buckley cooks them."

"Well… there's a war on. Bit ungrateful to start complaining about the eats, isn't it?"

Flora watched her solemnly. "I don't believe you. For the first time in my life, I just don't believe you." Sadly, she turned to walk away, and felt Veronica's hand clutch at hers.

"Flora - it's - it's nothing for you to worry over." Veronica's voice was constrained and edged with what Flora was surprised to realise was panic. As she watched, Veronica lifted the hand she held to her mouth, and kissed her wrist, hard and fierce. "You know you mean more to me than anything else, don't you?" V whispered against her skin, and all of Flora's irritation melted away.

"Of course I do. Veronica - "

"And you know I'd never do anything to hurt you?"

"Of course not - "

"Good." Veronica pulled her down for a firm kiss. "Then please don't worry. Flora, I - " She stopped and closed her eyes against Flora's cheek.

Flora let her hand drift up to bury itself in Veronica's dark hair. "Darling, what is it?"

Another kiss, gentler this time, and pressed against her cheek. "Nothing. I just love you, that's all."

"And I love you." Flora could hear her bewilderment in her own voice. "Veronica - "

"Let's go for a walk after luncheon," V. suggested, leading her down the hallway. "Blow away these horrid old cobwebs, hmm?"

* * *

When Edith hobbled, exhausted and muddy and sticky with sweat, into Locksley's hall that afternoon, Anne met her there. "Oh, darling, you're home early!"

Edith gave her a weary grin. "Yes, I finished the top field sooner than I thought I would. I think Mrs Howes was quite impressed with me."

Anne grinned. "'God speed the plough and the woman who drives it,' hmm?"[2]

Edith chuckled tiredly. "Something like that. I'm going upstairs for a bath and a change - I promised Mrs Cox I'd put a skirt on the minute I got home."

"Oh, but you'll have a cup of tea and a slice of cake first, won't you?"

"But I - "

"Nonsense," Anne insisted, guiding her firmly towards the library. "Can't have you falling asleep in the bath, now, can we?"

"But - "

The library door shut firmly behind her, and Edith turned, somewhat bewildered - and then froze. A tall, blonde figure crouched at the mantlepiece, one hand (encased in a brown leather glove) braced on it, while the other used the iron poker to stir the dying embers into life.

As she hovered on the doorstep, Anthony turned and rose and saluted her with a grin. "Sorry to disturb, miss - got any room for a soldier on leave?"

"_Anthony._" She did not think she had ever moved so quickly as she did in that moment. His arms opened and she flung herself into them, all exhaustion utterly forgotten in the joy of being once again so very close to him. Tears burned at her eyes as he hoisted her up off her feet to kiss her mouth. Edith let her hands bury themselves in the neatly clipped hair at the nape of his neck, and sighed in utter bliss as that familiar scent of aftershave, and tobacco and peppermints filled her nose. After several long moments, Anthony lowered her to the ground, and let his hands settle on her hips as he looked down at her. "So, these are the famous breeches, are they?"

Edith blushed. "Did Mrs Cox tell you?"

"No - Mama did." His thumb brushed at her cheek and then held it up for her inspection - a streak of grime clung there. "I come away from ten months in the trenches, and find my fiancée covered in dirt instead!"

Edith bit her lip. "But you don't… disapprove?" Now that the initial shock and delight at seeing him was dying away a little, her earlier worries were flooding back. But Anthony only shook his head and bent to kiss her again. "Not in the least. I'm as proud as punch. Mama says Mrs Howes would never have got the potato crop in without you this year." He paused and then murmured, slightly lower, "Would I be a cad if I said that you look devilish attractive?"

"Like this?" She laughed. "Anthony, I'm wearing half a field!"

"Yes," he agreed gravely. "But… sweet one, you're _also_ wearing trousers." The meaningful quirk of his eyebrow made her grow hot again, but not with embarrassment, and she buried her face into his chest and let him hold her tight.

"How long have we got you for?" she wondered.

"Three days," he said apologetically. "I'm due to report back on Friday. I'm sorry."[3]

Edith ran her hands down the front of his jacket, forcing a bright smile, even while her heart cracked anew. _Only three days! However will I bear it? _"Nonsense! We must just… make the most of you, that's all!"

* * *

Flora waited that night until Veronica's breathing had settled into the familiar, regular pattern that showed she was deeply asleep, before slipping from their bed. Shrugging her nightgown - hastily discarded some hours earlier - on over her head, she swathed herself in her dressing gown too and padded downstairs to the study. She loved Veronica, more than she had ever thought it possible to love another human being, but even she had to admit that her darling was _frightful_ when it came to being honest about one's worries.

And there most certainly _was_ something worrying her, something that, by Veronica's earlier reaction, could affect them both. Flora most certainly wasn't going to sit around and wait for her to confess, either.

In the study, she turned on the desk lamp, and opened the drawer that Veronica had been so quick to slam shut that afternoon. Atop the usual rubble that tended to congregate in any desk frequented by Veronica was a somewhat crumpled letter.

Heart suddenly hammering, Flora lifted it out, smoothed it - and sank into the desk chair as her eyes scanned the first few sentences.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Veronica cracked open one bleary eye. "Hnng?"

"Why didn't you - "

Veronica struggled up onto one forearm, shivering a little as the counterpane dropped down, exposing her bare skin to the cold air of the October night. Flora looked down at her - barefoot, white-faced, red-eyed. In her hand she brandished a crumpled piece of letter-paper.

Veronica groped for her nightshirt, no longer tired, and pushed the counterpane back, swinging her legs down so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Flora. Don't worry, there's no question of my - "

"_Don't_, V," Flora whispered, sinking down onto the mattress next to her as tears filled her eyes again, and overspilled them. Veronica's fingers came up to her cheeks to wipe them away and she felt Flora's lips quiver. "Y-you should go," she whispered eventually.

"Flora - "

"You _should_. Ambulance driving? Rescuing injured soldiers?" Flora squeezed her free hand tightly and a touch of irritation bled into her voice.[4] "How could you have _ever_ thought that I would be angry about _this_?"

"It's not about you being _angry_, though, is it?" Veronica looked up at her. "I promised you, when you broke things off with George - even before that, for God's sake - that you would _always_ be able to rely on me. That I'd never leave you alone, that you'd never have to worry about - "

Flora cut her off with a soft kiss. "And you wouldn't be breaking that promise." She rested her forehead against Veronica's and sighed. "Oh, my dearest love… I can't bear the idea that you've been tearing yourself apart, and all because you're too busy worrying about what you think is best for _me_, as usual."

Veronica gave an uneasy huff of laughter and ran a rueful hand through her hair. "Well, if I don't, who will? You left George and your family disowned you - all because of me. Running off to war would be a pretty poor way of repaying that, wouldn't it?" And that was the crux of it, wasn't it, Flora thought ruefully. Would they _ever_ reach a point in their lives where Veronica did not think that she had spoiled something for her? Would she _ever_ find the words to convince Veronica that whatever sacrifice she imagined had been made did not exist? Possibly, one day, when they were old and grey and hobbling along on sticks, but today was not that day. Instead, she reached across Veronica to set the letter aside on the bedside table.

"It's not your job to coddle me," she said seriously. "Never was, V. Look… this… this is important work, work you'd be good at. And you can't spend the rest of this war moping around here. Knitting balaclavas never has been your style, has it?"

"Not really, no," Veronica admitted, huffing out a watery laugh. "But… there's the house, and the farm…"

"I can get some of the car club in to help. Edith and Pip would give me some time, if I asked. Mrs Bentley was only saying the other day that she was worrying about her girls, having nothing to occupy them beyond vicarage teas." Flora straightened her shoulders bravely. "And… look here, if I can _garden_, I can _farm_, can't I?" At Veronica's look of admiration, she blushed, and hedged, "Or learn to. We'll manage."

"It'd be placing the most tremendous burden on you, my darling. I know you'd worry yourself sick about me and - "

"Show me a wife who _isn't_ worried sick just now, V!" As she spoke, Flora reached behind her and tugged at the counterpane until she could wrap it around both their shoulders, snuggling into Veronica's arm. Flora twined her fingers into her lover's hair. "Yes, I will worry. Yes, it will be a burden." She sniffed and buried her face into Veronica's neck. "But whenever did we decide that you were the only one in this house allowed to worry and suffer?" Veronica gave a grudging grunt of assent and Flora smiled. "There, then, sweetheart. Tell me honestly - if I weren't here, you would already have gone, wouldn't you?"

Veronica's silence was answer enough. Flora kissed her jaw. "Then you should go now."

Veronica turned suddenly and clung to her. "If you asked me to stay," she whispered, "I would. Without a murmur of complaint. You could have me safe and sound here for the rest of the war. Just say the word."

Flora nodded slowly. "I know I could. But… but safety means absolutely _nothing_ if you aren't my Veronica anymore. And sitting on the sidelines when people need your help… that's just not you at all, is it?"

Dimly, she heard V swear, soft and low. "Why are you always so damned logical?"

Flora chuckled. "I know you too well, my darling, that's all. Do you remember the day we met?"

Veronica huffed. "Not likely to forget, am I? It isn't every day you get attacked by the police and then arrested, after all."

"Mmm." Flora sighed wistfully. "We were all sat in that horrid police station waiting room, and they were taking as long as _humanly_ possible to deal with us all and I was fretting about precisely what my father was going to say when he found out - and then you were there, staring down a six foot tall desk sergeant and _demanding_ to speak to his superintendent about… someone. I don't remember who. You wanted to make a complaint."

"May Billinghurst," Veronica croaked. "They tipped her out of her wheelchair, and tampered with it."[5]

Flora nodded. "And I looked at you, with your hair coming down and a torn blouse and a black eye, arguing with that silly, _pompous_ man - and I knew. I _knew_ you were the one for me." She shrugged. "That's who you _are_, V."

Veronica's hand groped under the counterpane, found Flora's, and brought it to her lips for a fierce kiss. "_Thank you_," she murmured.

"Come on," Flora replied. "Time to sleep. And in the morning, we can - we can start to make plans."

* * *

**1: This report of an air raid is taken from a real newspaper of the time, a clipping of which was kept in the diary of Captain Henry Grant North Bushby, a Captain in the Royal Defence Corps. The newspaper is unknown - I'm pretending here that it was a national one that Pip could have got hold of, rather than the more likely local paper.**

**2: Nancy is quoting from a recruitment poster for the Women's Land Army; technically the poster didn't appear until 1917 - but we're only a few months out (and I couldn't bear to miss the chance of using it. It's one of my favourites.)**

**3: Soldiers' leave did not include extra time for travelling - so the amount of actual leave you got (as opposed to leave time spent travelling), as well as whether you got to spend your leave at home, very much depended on how far away from the Front you lived.**

**4: When I read about women driving ambulances at the front during the War, for the FANY or the VAD, I *knew* that this was what Veronica would want to be doing. And then I saw that Parrillustrate on Tumblr had done a series of drawings of WW1 servicemen and women to commemorate the First World War, one of which depicted a FANY ambulance driver. The woman in that drawing bore a striking resemblance to Veronica - tough eyes, stubborn chin and all - and that clinched it for me. Do look it up, if you're minded to know what she looks like.**

**5: Veronica and Flora met in a police station on 18****th**** November 1910 - Black Friday. A peaceful suffrage demonstration on the Houses of Parliament following the failure of the Conciliation Bill was met with police brutality which lasted for the next six hours. Protestors blamed this on the fact that officers had been called in from Whitechapel and the East End, as opposed to the local A Division, who were used to dealing with suffragettes. Police arrested 4 men and 115 women, although the following day all charges were dropped. Following this, a committee undertook interviews with 135 demonstrators, nearly all of whom described acts of violence against the women. Several of these acts of violence were sexual in nature. The Home Secretary (a certain W. Churchill) declined to carry out a public inquiry into the behaviour of the police. Rosa May Billinghurst was a real suffrage activist, who indeed campaigned from her wheelchair. The treatment she experienced on Black Friday was as I describe it above - officers tipped her out of her wheelchair in a side street, and removed the valves from her wheels, ensuring that she would not be able to move it.**

**Next time, Edith and Anthony enjoy his leave...**


	80. On Leave

"France seems a million miles away, sitting here with you," Anthony murmured to Edith, reaching for her hand across the picnic blanket.

His fiancée smiled at him. "I should hope so, Sir Anthony." It was the final full day of Anthony's leave, and a warm one for October: the sun was sinking into their bones, the birds were tweeting in the trees, and the remains of their picnic lunch - cheese sandwiches, and pickled onions, and pork pie and fruitcake - lay scattered on the plates between them.

His hand tightened on hers. "Edith, if I'm unlucky - "

Edith's smile was falsely bright, and her voice had an edge of desperation to it when she replied. "No, I don't want to talk about that! Let's not think about _anything_ awful today!"

"But… just this one thing…" Anthony rubbed an insistent thumb over her engagement ring. "Darling, if I _don't_ come back… you mustn't let yourself waste away over me. Do you promise?"

Edith looked at him, silent and solemn. "I can't make you that promise, Anthony. I… adore you. More than I thought I would ever love a single living person. And… if you _were_ to be unlucky, I don't know that I would ever be able to feel the same way about someone else." She sighed. "But… I will promise to try to live the life I think you would have wanted for me." She shook herself. "But… let's not talk about it any more. I won't waste the last day of your leave talking about miserable things."

His face softened compassionately. "As you like, my sweet one."

"Let's think about what we're going to do after the war," Edith murmured, curling into his side.

Gently, he kissed the top of her head. "What would you _like_ to do?"

"Marry you, obviously." She gave him a shy smile. "Have about a dozen more children… and live happily ever after."

"Heavens. A whole dozen, hmm?" he wondered lazily, letting his hand trail up her arm.

"Yes. Why - won't you enjoy that?" Her voice was soft and teasing.

He chuckled, deep in his throat, almost a growl. "Oh, yes. I'll enjoy that _very_ much. Particularly the _making_ of them, I think."

Edith went bright red. His hand stroked all the way down her arm, over her hand, and settled on the side of her thigh, warm even through her skirt and petticoat. She turned her head and kissed the side of his jaw, dancing little caresses up the side of his face, until he twisted and captured her lips with his.

Before she knew it, she was stretched out beneath him on the picnic blanket, kissing him passionately, her hands cupping his face as she held him close.

At length, they parted for air. His knee was between her legs, and the whole lower half of him was pressing into her in a way that left Edith in no doubt whatsoever - if ever she _had_ doubted - that she was desired. "Mmm," she smiled hazily.

Gently, Anthony kissed the tip of her nose, and rolled to the side to catch his breath, his hand splaying out to interlink his fingers with hers. After a moment, Edith shook her head. "Thank God for your self-control. If the positions were reversed…" She lifted her eyebrows, leaving him in no doubt as to what she would have said next.

Anthony stroked a finger down her cheek. "Darling… I know when I proposed, I said we'd wait until after the War, and we _can_ do that still, if you'd rather, but - " He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Every time I kiss you… I feel a little more of our self-control fraying. And sooner or later…" He stopped and looked up at her, suddenly very serious. "I don't want to risk… compromising you."

"Are you asking me to marry you sooner?" Edith asked, sitting up and staring down at him. "And not wait until after the war?"

Anthony bit his lip and shrugged his shoulders against the blanket. "Only if you'd like to."

There was perfect silence and stillness for a moment, and then Edith flung her arms around his neck, knocking him quite flat. "_Like to_?" she crowed. "I'd _love_ to! I'd marry you tomorrow if I could!"

Anthony kissed her forehead, laughing. "It'll probably have to be on my next leave," he tempered. "I'll ask for special dispensation as soon as I get back to the Front, and then we can set a date. We'll may have to get a special licence, if they can spare me very quickly - and there won't be much time for celebrating, I'm afraid, but - "

"But we'll be married," Edith finished softly against his mouth, "and that's all that matters to me."

* * *

Dinner that evening was a jolly affair. Flora and Veronica had been invited, too, and so the meal passed off in a haze of light conversation and witty banter. Over the cheese course, Anthony looked up and caught Edith's eye, lifting an eyebrow in silent query. _Shall we tell them?_

Edith smiled that particularly charming smile of hers - tiny and mischievous and secretive - and nodded her head a fraction. Anthony cleared his throat. "We - that is to say, Edith and I - have some rather nice news. We've decided that, rather than wait until after the War… well, we'd like to get married on my next leave - whenever we can arrange that for."

"Darlings!" Anne was thoroughly delighted at their news. "Well, that _is_ a cheering prospect. I'm _so_ glad you've decided not to wait after all. Edith dear," she asked, resting a loving hand on Edith's, "will you let me help you arrange things?"

"Anne - honestly? I was hoping you'd say that," Edith smiled.

"Oh, jolly good! One never knows, as one gets older, whether one is turning into an interfering busybody!" Anne shot back, and everyone laughed.

Anthony slung an arm around Pip's shoulders. "Look, old chap, you'll be my best man, won't you? Keep me up to the mark?"

Pip shook hands heartily. "Of course, Papa. I'd - I'd be honoured." Quickly, he rose from the table and came to kiss Edith's cheek. "Congratulations - _again_ \- Aunt E."

She patted his cheek fondly. "Thank you, my darling."

"Yes, congratulations, Edie," Veronica echoed.

"You'll make a beautiful bride," Flora finished, with a quiet smile.

"And… you'll be my bridesmaids, or my maids of honour, or whatever, won't you?" Edith asked, holding out her hands for both of them.

"Can you _really_ see me in a dress?" Veronica asked wryly.

"Wear a morning-suit for all I care!" Edith laughed.

"Well," Veronica ducked her head sheepishly, "if you really want me, we'll have to see if… if _I_ can get some leave too." She looked up, and Flora squeezed her hand. "You see, the thing is… Flora and I have sort of got an announcement of our own. I've joined an ambulance unit, at the Front. I'll be leaving at the end of the week."

"Oh - oh, but what shall we do without you?" Edith asked, her voice bereft.

Anthony lifted his glass and toasted Veronica. "Jolly good show, V." His face sobered and as they all drank, he murmured, "You'll be much needed, I'm afraid."

"Yes," Flora agreed bravely. "That's precisely what we thought." She straightened her shoulders, her smile a tiny, flickering thing. "So that's our news."

Wordless, Edith turned and gave her a tight, one-armed hug.

* * *

"Anthony - can I have a word?" Veronica murmured as they rose to go through to the drawing room. Edith squeezed his hand and gave them both smiles as she ushered Anne and Flora and Pip out, shutting the door behind them.

"Of course," Anthony gestured her back into her seat. "Is everything all right, Veronica?"

"Yes." But instead of sitting, Veronica began to pace. "Look, Anthony, it's this ambulance thing. When - when you joined up, you got Edith to sign some papers, didn't you? To make sure she could manage things, while you were away?"

"And you want to do the same for Flora?" finished Anthony.

"Yes. And - to ask you and Edith for a favour."

"Whatever it is, we'll help gladly."

Veronica gave him a grateful smile. "Good. You know I've no close family, Anthony, but I've got a few distant cousins who are _the_ most grasping beings ever to live." Her mouth tightened. "I changed my will to leave everything to Flora after she came to live with me, but - but if I'm… unlucky… if those _reptiles_ try to contest anything, if they try to take the house or the land from her… will you stick by her?"

Anthony stood and they shook hands. "My word as a Strallan, Veronica. Edith and Pip would say the same."

"I thought so. Just… making sure." She shook her head, looking suddenly fragile. "I know if - if anything happens to me, I'm leaving her in a damnable position, but…" She looked up at Anthony. "Well, you know."

"Yes, I know." Anthony squeezed her shoulder and poured her another glass of port. "We oughtn't to worry about them, you know. Flora and Edith. They're both highly capable, clever women - more than equal to anything they're likely to face here."

Veronica nodded, and gave a wet little chuckle. "Yes. I know. We've… we've really landed on our feet, haven't we, you and I?"

Thinking of Edith, Anthony smiled. "We have indeed."

Veronica drained her glass in a single gulp. "Won't stop us fretting, though, will it?"

Anthony's smile faded. "No. I'm afraid it won't." He pushed back his chair and stood. "Shall we go through?"

* * *

"Sweet one," Anthony murmured as they sat in the library together late that evening, the only ones in the house still awake, "when Veronica and I are gone again - you _will_ look after Flora, won't you?"

"Of course." Edith stood and poured them both glasses of brandy. "Is Veronica… worried about her, do you think?"

Anthony gave her a soft smile of thanks as she handed him the glass. "Veronica will always worry about Flora, my dear - just as I will always worry about you." He kissed her hand as she took her seat again. "I know you'll be a comfort to her, though. You - you know what it is, after all, to be - to be without the person you love, for any length of time."

Edith slid off her shoes and drew her legs up onto the sofa, curling into his side. The wave of desolation that she had been desperately holding off for the past three days crashed over her again, quite unexpectedly. "Yes. Y-yes, I certainly d-do, my darling." And then, suddenly: "_Oh, Anthony!_"

There was a harsh clink as Anthony set aside his glass, and then his arms were tight around her, drawing her close, and his mouth found hers.

Edith closed her eyes, and let her tears fall.

* * *

The next morning, on the platform, Edith found herself curiously dry-eyed and stoic. Anthony held her hand tightly in his own gloved one as they waited for the train to pull in. Anne and Pip had already said goodbye to him, and were back at Locksley. Not for the first time, Edith had found herself thanking God for her future mother-in-law, and her sense of intuition - however had she known that Edith wanted nothing so much as these last few precious minutes alone with Anthony before he left again?

"I'll write, of course," Anthony murmured. "As soon as I can."

"Yes," she nodded. "Let me know what your commanding officer says, about the leave. And then your Mama and I can start making plans."

Anthony brushed away a loose curl of hair from her face and ducked his head under the brim of her hat to kiss her, softly. Edith's palm pressed against his cheek and he closed his eyes, inhaling her scent deep into his lungs. His hand clutched a little desperately at her waist and when they parted, both were breathing a little heavier. "I love you," Edith whispered. "And I'll see you _very_ soon." She never told him, at these moments, to stay safe, or to be careful. Such a pointless waste of words and time, when it was very likely that, in the event, Anthony wouldn't have the option.

"I love you too, Edith - so very much. God bless you, my darling."

The arrival of the train pulled them apart - he boarded and the doors slammed shut all along the train and then they were holding hands through the window. The whistle sounded, the train began to move - Edith ran alongside it, holding on to his hand for as long as she could until the engine picked up too much speed and their fingers fell apart.

She stood on the platform, waving until his figure and his lifted hand and his smile had quite vanished into the mist. And then she straightened her shoulders, returned to the car… and let herself cry.

* * *

"Well, that's me off," Veronica offered, edging herself into the drawing room.

Flora stood, looking her over, and sniffed out a watery laugh. "Funny - that the first time I've ever seen you in a skirt should be when you're in military uniform."

V shrugged, smoothing down her thick coat with a shaking hand. "S'pose I'll get used to it soon enough." They were silent for a moment, just looking at each other, each drinking in the other's face. "On the platform," Veronica murmured, "we'll have to be all proper and discreet, but when I squeeze your hand before I get on that train, in my head I'll be doing this." She lifted herself up on tiptoes, buried a hand in Flora's hair and kissed her fiercely. Flora's fingers came up and clutched at V's wrist, holding her leather-gloved hand in place against her cheek. "Take care of yourself," Flora whispered against her lips and Veronica nodded.

"Of course. You too."

Flora rested their foreheads together. "You'll never know how proud I am of you, my darling. Never forget that, will you?"

* * *

The house seemed so quiet and empty without Anthony in it. Funny - when he was there, he never seemed to make so very much noise, or take up an inordinate amount of space, but as soon as he had been removed again… Edith felt the void that he should be filling in the same way as she would feel a fishbone lodged in her throat - sharp and painful and choking. None of them felt much like talking that evening; after dinner, they retired quietly to the library. Anne was knitting, Pip was finishing off some prep. at his father's desk, and Edith was simply staring into the fire, wondering where Anthony was, what he was doing, what he was thinking at that very moment -

The hall telephone ringing shook her out of her reverie. Pip rose from his chair and Edith heard him answer it. A moment later, his head popped around the door, a worried look on his face. "Aunt E., it's Lady Flora. Sounds in a bit of a state - will you come and talk to her?"

Edith gave him a reassuring smile as she passed him in the doorway on her way out. "Of course. Veronica was leaving this afternoon - that'll be the cause of it."

In the hall, she perched on the table, and lifted the receiver. "Hello, Flora - how are you?"

Flora gave a wet chuckle that crackled down the line. "Not - not too chipper, to be honest." Her voice was tight and choked. "I - I thought I'd be all right, and then I came home and she'd left a nightshirt on the bed, Edie, and - and I've been rattling around here for about as long as I can stand, and I just… needed to hear a friendly voice."

"Of course." Edith made a split-second decision. "My dear, pack a bag and come and stay with us at Locksley for a few days, why don't you?"

"You w-wouldn't mind?"

"Heavens, _no_. It would be a distraction for both of us." Edith tried to inject a bit of cheer into her voice. "The least we can do at a time like this is hold together, I think. Are you all right to drive, or shall I come and collect you?"

"No, I can manage. Thanks, Edith - you're a brick."

"We'll see you when we see you, my dear."

"Yes - apologise to Pip for me, will you?" Flora's voice was edged with a touch of her usual humour. "I don't think he's used to telephone calls from weeping women."

* * *

"I've got the hot water bottle, Aunt E.," Pip announced at the bedroom door, "and Mrs Cox is warming some soup through, in case she's hungry when she arrives."

Edith looked up from where she was plumping pillows. "Jolly good. Fetch me that blanket from the top of the cupboard, will you, Pip?"

Together, they shook it out and spread it over the bed. This done, Pip smoothed it out with a thoughtful hand. "Aunt E…"

"Mmm, my darling?" Edith looked about her as she spoke, checking that everything was in order: pitcher and ewer on the washstand, spare coat-hangers in the wardrobe, clean towels folded on the chair…

"I - I know this might sound… shocking," Pip interrupted, "but… but do you think there's any chance that Flora and Veronica might - might _love_ each other?" Hastily, he elaborated, "In the way that you and Papa love each other? I mean… Flora was so upset. And she didn't marry that MP, did she?"

"No," Edith agreed. "She _certainly_ didn't." _Well, he does have his father's brains, after all - I ought to have expected this, really._

Pip's eyebrows flew up into his hairline, apparently taking this as confirmation, and he sank onto the end of the bed. "Heavens. So… I'm - not wrong?"

Edith joined him. "No, my darling, you're not wrong."

"Gosh." A thought struck him. "Does Papa know?"

"Yes, he knows." Smiling at the memory, she told him, "Your papa told _me_."

"Does _Granny_ know?"

"Yes, she knows."

"Does - "

Edith cut him off, sensing that this series of questioning had the potential to go on for _quite_ some time. "_Most_ of our circle know, darling. All of the car club, certainly. Most of their friends in the county. _All_ of their friends in Town." Seriously, she asked, "Will this… trouble you?"

Pip shook his head quickly. "No. I don't think so. I mean… I liked them before I knew, and - well, they've not _changed_ in any way, have they? Not really. Why should it bother me?"

"Quite right, my darling," Edith approved. She tilted her head and rested it on his shoulder. His arm, which was becoming the arm of a man, squeezed her waist briefly. "Poor Flora," Pip murmured. "I'll see if there's anything she needs doing around the estate - half term next week, after all. You can spare me, can't you?"

Edith gave him a sudden quick hug and Pip looked down at her in surprise. "Goodness, Aunt E., what was that for?"

"Nothing," Edith said, eyes brimming with sudden, silly tears. "I'm just… _terribly_ proud of you, that's all."


End file.
